The Way of The Squib
by Ozma
Summary: COMPLETE. When Mrs. Norris goes into heat, Filch must deal with a host of problems. Other featured characters include Harry, Colin Creevey and Hermione. Sequel to Squib Wizard
1. Unofficial Observer

The Way of the Squib  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"  
Chapter 1: Unofficial Observer  
Everything in this story really belongs to J.K. Rowling  
  
  
  
  
I ran down the left hand corridor on the first floor, just ahead of a glowing red, grapefruit-sized   
ball of light. Halfway down the hall, a black-and-yellow tapestry waited.  
  
Behind me, I could hear the triumphant buzzing of one of Mad Eye Moody's secutus spells. It   
would reach me well before I reached black and yellow. To make matters even worse, another red,   
pulsating ball of light had just appeared, directly between me and my Door. I was surrounded.  
  
Or was I? Ahead of my pounding feet, the stone floor of the corridor suddenly shifted. Green-  
and-silver didn't appreciate being used as a doormat, I was certain. But it was for a good cause. Being   
caught by Mad Eye Moody's spells hurt. My job as Castle caretaker gives me enough backaches already.   
Without breaking stride, I jumped downwards, right through the corridor floor.  
  
Momentum remains a problem whenever I use my Doors to jump through the floor. I have a   
tendency to emerge, sprawling head over heels. Recently, though, I had started lessons with Madam   
Hooch. She had been teaching me how to fall without damaging myself too badly.  
  
Madam Hooch knew that, to me, a broom would never be more than a cleaning implement. But   
she had not questioned the Headmaster when he'd asked her to teach me about falling. She'd came to her   
own conclusions about Dumbledore's reasons. Her yellow hawk-like eyes had swept me up and down,   
taking in the fading bruises still visible on my face.   
  
"Good idea," she'd said, briskly. "Especially if Argus is not going to have the sense to keep away   
from Lucius Malfoy!"  
  
I'd sighed. The list of people who Needed To Know seemed to be growing all the time, but my   
Doors were still a secret from most of the people at Hogwarts. However, nearly everyone in the Castle   
appeared to know that Lucius Malfoy had thrown me down the front steps when I refused to obey his order   
to take him to the Headmaster immediately.  
  
Madam Hooch's expression had been approving, in spite of her words. She looked as if she'd   
been glad that I'd stood up to Malfoy. And she did her best to share her knowledge and training with me.   
There's an art to falling. Since even the best Quidditch players will fall, Madam Hooch was very well   
qualified to teach me how to do it without breaking my neck. So, I was able to turn my tumble into a   
passable shoulder-roll when I emerged from green-and-silver, through a wall in the Charms corridor.  
  
Getting my feet beneath me once more, I crouched behind a suit of armor, to rest for a moment   
and catch my breath.  
  
Straining my ears, I listened for the distinctive *clunk* of Moody's wooden leg. To my relief, I   
didn't hear it. But I had heard...something.  
  
Soft breathing, perhaps? And, had that been a quiet footfall nearby? Nervously, I scanned the   
Charms corridor. There was no one in sight.  
  
Sometimes the ghosts do like to move about invisibly. But they don't breathe, and no one hears   
them walking. And it couldn't be Peeves. Peeves never does anything quietly.   
  
Was it a student out of bed, perhaps? My heart sank at the thought. I didn't want to be   
interrupted in the middle of one of my lessons with Moody! It hadn't happened yet, I'd been lucky so far. I   
still wasn't sure what I would do if the situation actually ever arose.  
  
It couldn't be a student, could it? I'd never heard anyone mention Invisibility spells being taught   
at Hogwarts. As far as I knew, none of the students could turn themselves invisible...  
  
Everything was perfectly quiet now. Or as quiet as the Castle ever gets at night.   
  
I must have imagined those soft noises.  
  
Stealthily, I moved down the corridor, in the direction of the main staircase. No red, pulsating   
secutus spells yet. I was still safe.  
  
Near the top of the stairs was a statue. It was mostly hidden in the shadows, but I didn't   
recognize it. A new addition to the Castle's decor, then. I was just wondering when the Headmaster had   
acquired this ugly thing, when I noticed the bright blue magical eye.  
  
Oh, no.  
  
Wand outstretched, Mad Eye Moody stepped forward. He looked pleased with me. This evening   
I'd been able to elude him for longer than ever before. He also looked triumphant, as he cast a Stunning   
spell at me. Capturing me had gotten to be more of a challenge for him lately, and the old Auror   
thoroughly enjoyed a challenge.   
  
Good. Because I still had one more trick for him, literally up my sleeve.  
  
I'd been able to feel the surge in Moody's magic even before he'd cast the spell. And I was ready.  
  
The wooden filing cabinets in my office are nearly empty of parchments now. I'd recently burned   
about thirty years worth of detention forms, each one a carefully hoarded grudge. But I still had a few file   
drawers with plenty of odds and ends in them.  
  
One of the drawers is labeled "Confiscated and Highly Dangerous." I leave that one alone.   
  
Another is labeled "Confiscated, but Probably Harmless." One of the items in that drawer had   
been a small hand mirror that I'd once taken from a nasty little chit named Rita Skeeter. (The mirror had   
seemed ordinary enough. But it had looked to me as if Rita had been trying to use it to reflect a curse at   
one of her classmates.)  
  
The mirror fit snugly into the palm of my hand, just as it had fit into Rita's. And Moody's   
Stunning Spell would reflect, much as Rita had tried to do all those years ago, with her curse.  
  
Mad Eye Moody froze as his own Stunning Spell bounced back and hit him. His magical eye   
swung about crazily. His normal eye rolled back in his head. I was alarmed to see that his nose was   
trickling blood. Just how hard had he meant to hit me?  
  
I hadn't realized how close he was standing to the top of the stairs. Horrified, I watched him   
falling backwards into emptiness.  
  
Had Moody ever played Quidditch? I had no clue. Had anyone ever taught him how to fall? I   
didn't know. And even if someone had, he was Stunned and completely helpless. He was going to break   
his neck!  
  
I didn't know which of my Doors was there for me, when I stepped back. I didn't think about it. I   
just stepped backwards into one of them, and emerged halfway down the flight of stairs. Stopping   
Moody's fall entirely would not be possible. But I could try to prevent him from injuring himself too   
badly.  
  
I'd once seen Madam Hooch catch a terrified first year who'd fallen from her broom. She'd flown   
underneath the girl, allowing herself to be knocked off her own broom a few feet from the ground, to   
cushion the child's fall. Neither of them had suffered anything worse than bruises.  
  
Moody hit me with the force of a bludger. I was able to keep him from striking his head as we   
tumbled down the stairs together. I'd already sent whichever Door I'd used away. (Another journey   
through my Doors was the last thing Mad Eye needed.)  
  
At the landing, near the foot of the stairs, there was a pedestal with a heavy Grecian amphora on   
top. Moody and I slammed into the pedestal's base. The amphora started to shake. It was heavy enough to   
do terrible harm if it fell on us.  
  
A proper wizard could have caught the amphora with a spell. I couldn't. The best I could do was   
curl protectively over my helpless teacher and hope to cushion him from this impact too.  
  
Body aching from my tumble down the stairs, eyes squeezed tightly shut and heart pounding, I   
waited for the crushing blow.  
  
It didn't come.  
  
After a few anxious moments, I dared to open my eyes. The amphora was now completely steady   
on its pedestal. But it was not exactly in the center. The ring of dust made that obvious. (I couldn't help a   
flush of shame when I noticed the dust. All the recent havoc in the dungeons has put me so very far   
behind with my dusting!)  
  
Someone or something had saved us; catching the heavy thing before it could fall, and putting it   
back!   
  
Someone or something that I couldn't see.  
  
"Who's here...?" I wheezed, my heart still beating hard. "I know you're here!"  
  
Silence was my only answer. I couldn't even hear anyone breathing.  
  
I looked up and down the stairs but nothing was moving.  
  
Moody groaned.  
  
"Filch?" he said weakly.  
  
"I'm here," I said. "Are you all right?"  
  
There! I'd heard it again. A very soft sound, as if someone was moving close by. Perhaps   
someone who was as concerned about Mad Eye as I was.  
  
The Auror's magical eye was rolling about crazily again. I couldn't tell if it had rested in any one   
direction longer than the rest. And Moody did not tell me if he saw anything unusual.  
  
"Don't get yourself into a state, Filch..." Moody said gruffly. "It's just your cat."   
  
Mrs. Norris came slinking silently up the stairs, moving out of the shadows towards us. But I   
knew it wasn't her that I'd just heard.  
  
"Keep alert, Missy," I whispered to her as she came softly over to me. "We're not alone on these   
stairs."  
  
Her small grey ears began to swivel about, like Moody's magical eye.  
  
I didn't know how long Mrs. Norris had been nearby, but if she'd been in the vicinity for more   
than a few moments, then she'd probably seen the falling amphora stopped by our invisible savior.  
  
The old Auror watched my cat, speculatively.  
  
"What in Medea's Name did you do to me?" was the only thing he said. He pulled a handkerchief   
out of his pocket to dab at his bloody nose.  
  
"I just reflected your own spell back at you," I told him.   
  
Relieved to see that he was recovering, I was beginning to feel the first stirrings of resentment at   
the powerful Stunning Spell. He'd meant to use that spell on me!  
  
"With this..." I said.  
  
The small mirror, unbroken, lay at the foot of the stairs. Wincing, I got up and fetched it to show   
him.  
  
The old Auror looked pale and dazed. But his magical eye swiveled to study the mirror.  
  
"Nasty little thing, this is..." he growled. "Where'd you get it?"  
  
"It was confiscated from a student... been in a drawer in my office for years. It's just a mirror,   
isn't it?"  
  
Moody shook his head. "No. This thing was made for casting spells. And it's got a defensive   
spell on it too, for good measure. It reflects magic back, with nearly twice the original force. Circe's Pigs,   
man! Did you really think that I was going to use a spell that strong on you.?"  
  
"I-I figured that you might have gotten carried away," I said, in small voice. I was ashamed of   
myself.   
  
He sighed, chagrined. "Listen to me, Filch. You are one of this Castle's defenders. As much as   
any other adult wizard here. Those Doors give you access to magic that no one else can use. I'm trying to   
teach you that you have claws, and how to use 'em. That's the whole point of these lessons. I'm not trying   
to kill you!"  
  
"I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"You've done very well. I'm proud of you. Tonight you've earned ten out of ten."  
  
I couldn't help grinning proudly.  
  
"Which student did you take it from?" he asked me, rubbing his head.  
  
I told him.  
  
"Figures..." he growled, but I wasn't listening.  
  
I'd just heard someone gasp, quite distinctly.   
  
"Who's there?" I cried.  
  
Both Moody and Mrs. Norris were no help, whatsoever. Moody was staring into space. It almost   
seemed as if he were deliberately trying not to look anywhere in particular.   
  
Mrs. Norris was calmly washing her right front paw, with an attitude as casual as Moody's.  
  
Both cats and Aurors love to keep secrets.  
  
"That does it!" I snarled at Mad Eye. "I'm tired of everyone around me always knowing more   
than I do! Mrs. Norris can't tell me who else is here, but you can. You just won't!"  
  
Moody looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.  
  
"All right. Fine. Don't tell me! It's probably one of the ghosts anyhow! Probably the Baron. As   
long as it isn't Peeves! Whoever it is, it's someone that Mrs. Norris isn't objecting to, and I trust her   
judgment. It's just maddening!" I grumbled. "The way that you enjoy secret plots, and wheels turning   
within wheels... name one other person who is as infuriating as you are!"  
  
"Albus." Moody said, promptly.  
  
"I am going to tell him you said that!" I said, outraged at such disrespect.  
  
Moody grinned. "Please do."  
  
I continued to glower for a few moments, then I sighed.   
  
"Do you want to keep it?" I asked him. "The mirror, I mean."  
  
"It's yours, Filch. Why would I take it away from you?"  
  
"Because," I pointed out, "I thought that it was just an ordinary mirror. I couldn't test it with   
magic, or use any spells to see exactly what it was capable of doing. Maybe I've got some other things in   
my "Harmless" drawer that I should reclassify."  
  
"I'll be glad to take a look at your collection, a little later. Right now, I don't feel up to it..."  
  
He rested his head in his hands, massaging his temples.   
  
I watched, feeling sorry for him.  
  
"Sounds like you've amassed quite an unofficial little arsenal over the years..." Moody   
murmured.  
  
Stricken, I said, "But I would never use anything that I knew was dangerous!"  
  
He sighed. "That's not the point I'm trying to make, Filch. I don't disapprove of your arsenal.   
Quite the opposite. Unofficial things have a very important place among anyone's most valuable   
resources. You've got to learn how to use any advantage you've got. Unofficial weapons. Unofficial   
sources of information. Unofficial connections."  
  
"For example," he went on. "The students aren't supposed to know about your Doors. How you   
can use them to come closer to Apparating within the Castle's defenses than any other wizard at   
Hogwarts. Neville and Ginny, the only children who know, have been sworn to secrecy. They can't tell   
any of the other children. But isn't it true that it was really *Ginny* who was the first to figure out that a   
powerful wizard-repelling spell is what makes the Doors unusable and deadly for any witch or wizard   
with magic stronger than a Squib's?"  
  
I nodded, warily, wondering what he was getting at.  
  
"None of the students can know about any of this ... officially. But the students are one of   
Hogwarts' greatest resources. Full of intelligence, energy and ideas."  
  
"Full of tricks and pranks and mischief..." I retorted. "You're not suggesting that I start telling   
*students* are you?"  
  
Moody smiled. "Of course not. You're not ready to take such a suggestion seriously. But I hope   
that you will consider my point. Don't overlook any advantage, any source of possible help. Xiomara   
Hooch and I are not your only teachers. You can learn from anyone. Even the students."  
  
That brought me up short. I knew he was right about learning from the children. Both Neville   
and Ginny had taught me a great deal already.  
  
"Good," he said, approvingly. "You are thinking about it. That's all I'm asking. Now, give me a   
hand up, and help me find my staff. We'll go and have a look at that treasure trove of yours."  
  
END OF CHAPTER ONE.  
  
Next chapter: Harry takes a more visible role.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
I was going to mention what House Rita Skeeter was in, and then I couldn't decide. I know that Slytherin   
is an obvious choice, but I don't want to automatically put every unpleasant person in Slytherin. The   
unfairness of that bothers me.  
  
The next choice I considered was Ravenclaw, because Rita is clearly intelligent. I couldn't see her in   
either Hufflepuff or Gryfindor. Any thoughts on the subject?  
  
Thanks to those delightful reviewers who said nice things about "The Squib and The Werewolf!" who I   
haven't had a chance to thank yet!  
  
MB: Thank you!! I hope you like this story too.   
  
Latardadk: Thank you!! I did give a lot of thought to what form the boggart would take for Filch and Mrs.   
Norris. Torturing characters is fun, though everyone tends to really torture their favorite characters the   
most 


	2. Seekers

The Way of The Squib  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"  
Chapter 2: Seekers  
  
  
  
  
"Students out of bed!!!!"  
  
There appeared to be a poltergeist in my room.  
  
"Oy! Filch!"  
  
Maybe I was just having a nightmare.  
  
"Get *up,* Filch!"   
  
No, Peeves was really here.   
  
In the middle of the night. Yelling.  
  
I burrowed under the blankets and put my pillow over my head.  
  
The wretched poltergeist began to lob stale dinner rolls at me. (He steals them from the tables at   
dinner and keeps them until they are harder than Hagrid's rock cakes.)  
  
"Students! Out! Of! Bed!"   
  
Each word was accompanied by a chunk of bread bouncing off my back.   
  
"Go away..." I moaned. "I've had barely four hours sleep, and that's over the last two days..."  
  
"Oooh!" Peeves cackled at me. "Poor, tired old Filch wants his beauty sleep, does he? Well, one   
hundred years' beauty sleep wouldn't help that phiz of yours!"  
  
His voice turned oily. "Good ickle students should be safe in their beds at night. Bad ones who go   
running about should be caught and punished! Neglecting your responsibilities just a bit, aren't you?"  
  
Curse him, he was right.   
  
I never thought I'd see the day when I'd need Peeves to remind me of my proper duty.  
  
Blearily, I managed to sit up. For a moment or two all I could do was blink and stare.   
  
The poltergeist bounced a stale roll off my head.  
  
"Listen, why don't you go and torment them for me, until I get there...?" I asked him, too weary   
even to dodge.  
  
Peeves gave me a wicked glare. I could see the gleam in his eyes, even in the dimness of my   
room.  
  
"Lazy old Filch is just going to go right back to sleep!" Peeves said, accusingly.  
  
"I mean it," I yawned. "I'll be right there. Where did you say these students were?"  
  
"In the entrance hall. And you'd better be quick! Or they'll be outside!!"  
  
That woke me up.  
  
"Delay them. I'll be right behind you..." I said, fumbling around for my slippers.  
  
Grinning with satisfaction, Peeves turned and flew out, through my bedroom wall.  
  
Mrs. Norris, who was curled up on my bed, stirred and had herself a luxuriant stretch. She   
looked at the bits of bread everywhere and blinked her golden eyes.   
  
"Don't ask..." I said. "Are you coming with me, or would you rather sleep?"  
  
She rubbed herself against me, purring even more affectionately than usual. Then she jumped   
down from the bed. Blue-and-copper was already there by the time I stumbled over to the wall, with her   
following.  
  
"The entrance hall..." I murmured. "Please..."  
  
******  
  
Mrs. Norris and I emerged into another bread-storm.  
  
"Merlin's Beard, Peeves! Don't you ever let the students have any of these accursed dinner   
rolls?" I moaned.  
  
Peeves broke off his attack and hovered nearby, to witness my confrontation with the miscreants.   
From the look of him, he was hoping that I was going to shout myself into a fit of apoplexy.  
  
I could see two boys in the middle of the vast entrance hall, brushing stale bits of roll out of their   
hair and off their robes. Fifth year Harry Potter and fourth year Colin Creevey, both of Gryffindor. Both   
were holding brooms. Potter had his Firebolt and Creevey was carrying one of the school brooms; a rather   
old Shooting Star.  
  
Stale bread crunched under my slippers as I made my way over to them. Mrs. Norris padded   
softly after me.  
  
"Where do the two of you think you're going?" I asked.   
  
Thanks to the highly efficient Hogwarts grapevine, I already knew the answer to my question.  
  
As the only Seeker on the Gryffindor House team, Potter carried a heavy responsibility. At least   
one reserve Seeker was needed, and Potter had chosen Creevey from among several candidates. I'm no   
expert on Quidditch, but I thought it was a wise decision. Creevey, like Potter, is small, quick and agile.   
And enthusiastic. Very, very enthusiastic.  
  
According to Minerva, who was pleased with Potter's choice, Creevey had the makings of a fine   
Seeker. Plenty of raw talent. Muggle-born Creevey was eager for all the flying practice he could get. Even   
if it was in the middle of the night.  
  
To their credit, neither boy tried lying to me, or bluffing. It would have been obvious to the   
thickest troll what they'd been trying to do, and they knew it.  
  
"This is my fault," Potter said. "Not Colin's. It was my idea."  
  
"No..." Creevey piped up. "It was my idea, really! Don't blame Harry!"  
  
I sighed. "Boys, it doesn't matter who had the idea. You're both here. You're both getting   
detention. As soon as I can think of one that's miserable enough. Flying around in the dark. What were   
you thinking?"  
  
"Could have broken their necks..." Peeves cackled, gleefully, rubbing his hands together. He was   
prompting me, waiting for me to put on a good show for him. But I was too sleepy to work up any real   
anger. I felt more relief than anything. The boys had been caught before anything too terrible could   
happen.   
  
"Go back to your beds," I told them, quietly. "I'll speak to Professor McGonagall about the two of   
you in the morning, and we will arrange a suitable detention. Tomorrow is Saturday. You don't have   
classes. You can practice your flying all day if you wish, in the light, like sensible people."  
  
Both boys turned to go back up the stairs.   
  
Peeves looked at me with anger and disappointment on his sharp little face. I was too busy   
yawning to care.  
  
******  
  
Sweeping up the entrance hall didn't take as long as I'd feared. When Mrs. Norris and I returned   
to our room, I discovered that one or more of the house-elves must have paid us a visit and set my bed   
back to rights. Not so much as a bread crumb in sight!  
  
Relieved, I crawled back under my blankets.   
  
I slept right through breakfast, as I've often done lately.  
  
Eventually, I was awakened by Mrs. Norris. She was making a most distressing sound. A long,   
low crooning yowl.  
  
"What is it, my sweet?" I asked, petting her. "What's wrong?"  
  
She pressed up against me, kneading the bedclothes with her claws. Her tail end rose as I stroked   
her. She continued making that pitiful noise.  
  
"Oh... no." I said. I buried my face in my hands.  
  
It had been a very long time, but I knew the signs.  
  
A certain long-standing Charm had worn off.  
  
My poor cat was in heat.  
  
******  
  
Professor Flitwick had been given the task of finding a way to block my Doors, and he'd risen to   
the challenge. The diminutive Professor was the most Unreachable person in the Castle. He had   
Unreachable Charms protecting his office, and Unreachable Charms protecting himself. Both the   
Headmaster and Alastor Moody agreed that the Castle's defenses should not include a weapon that we   
ourselves did not know how to fight. Any weapon had the potential to be turned against us.  
  
When I tried to enter Professor Flitwick's office via red-and-gold, the journey took a long time.   
When I finally emerged into the corridor near his office (the closest the Charm would allow) I found the   
door locked.  
  
In desperation, I asked red-and-gold to take me directly to him. It was an emergency! Professor   
Flitwick needed to renew the Charm which had kept Mrs. Norris safe from the demands of her urge to   
breed!  
  
To my surprise, I emerged from red-and-gold to find myself back in the Charms corridor once   
more. Several more attempts, with the other Doors, produced the same results.  
  
I realized the truth that I'd been unwilling to accept. My Doors could not bring me to Professor   
Flitwick because he must not be in the Castle, or anywhere on the Castle grounds! He must have had plans   
for today. I hoped that he would return soon. Being cooped up in her current miserable state would be very   
difficult for poor Mrs. Norris! I'd left her shut up in our rooms, wailing her little heart out.  
  
Perhaps one of the other professors might be capable of working the complex anti-estrus charm?   
But no one else would have Flitwick's gentle touch. Mrs. Norris trusted him. Professor McGonagall was   
the only other Professor that Mrs. Norris was as fond of.  
  
Could I raise this delicate subject with Minerva?  
  
She was really my only choice.  
  
******  
  
Uncharacteristically, Mrs. Norris hissed at Minerva, when I brought the Deputy Headmistress   
into our rooms. Professor McGonagall was carrying a book describing the workings of the anti-estrus   
charm.  
  
"She's seeing me as a rival..." Minerva said. "Another female in her territory. Poor thing. She's   
really in quite a state!"  
  
"Is there anything you can do for her?" I asked, anxiously. We had to speak loudly in order to be   
heard over Mrs. Norris. She was rubbing up against me with great affection, wailing piteously while   
simultaneously bristling and glowering at Minerva.  
  
Professor McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid not. The anti-estrus charm is one I've never   
done before and I don't wish to experiment on Mrs. Norris. Besides, the charm loses effectiveness once   
the cat in question has started a breeding cycle."  
  
"Argus," she continued gently, "The charm was never meant to be permanent. Filius must have   
told you that."  
  
I nodded, biting my lip.  
  
"The charm must have reached the end of its natural span. Perhaps, now, you must simply let   
nature take its course."  
  
"No," I said, stubbornly. "Never again! You remember what happened last time! Kittens are a   
bother that she and I can do without very nicely, thank you! A lot of trouble and heartache! There must be   
some other way! Perhaps when Professor Flitwick returns he can try another Charm on her!"  
  
"He's gone for the entire weekend," Minerva told me. "Are you really willing to let her go on like   
this?"  
  
"I don't want to, but I don't have a choice!" I said.  
  
Minerva's expression was stern. Her clear, grey eyes urged me to reconsider.  
  
Frowning, I shook my head.  
  
"Thank you for your advice, Professor," I said. "As long as you're here, we might as well discuss   
the detention plans for Potter and Creevey. Let's go into the corridor, so we can hear each other!"  
  
I had to pause first, to pry Mrs. Norris away from me. Minerva gave my cat a very sympathetic   
look as I shut the door on her pitiful yowling.  
  
******  
  
Minerva suggested that I seek Poppy's opinion on what to do about Mrs. Norris.  
  
Poppy had not been much help either.  
  
She'd agreed with Minerva. "Oh, the poor little thing!" she said, when I described Mrs. Norris's   
condition.  
  
"Filch, you ought to just let her do what comes naturally! There are plenty of healthy tomcats in   
the Castle. Once she's bred, she'll be fine."  
  
"She won't be fine!" I wailed. "She'll be pregnant! She'll have kittens!"  
  
Poppy remembered the last time, years ago. She patted my arm comfortingly. "She was a good   
mother, Argus."  
  
"I know she was a good mother. I just don't want her put through all that, again!"  
  
Poppy sighed. "I've given you my advice. Take it or leave it."  
  
*******  
  
Grumbling, I'd retreated down to my office. Minerva had left the choice of Potter and Creevey's   
detention up to me, and I was still trying to think of something suitable.  
  
Pulling a chain off my wall, I began to polish. Mrs. Norris and her problem were still uppermost   
on my mind. I'd already decided that she and I would wait for Professor Flitwick, and hope that he knew   
another Charm to help her. It was going to be a long weekend for both of us.  
  
Two long chains and a set of manacles were gleaming under fresh coats of polish before I calmed   
down.  
  
Potter and Creevey. I really needed a detention worthy of the intrepid Gryffindor Seeker and his   
enthusiastic little apprentice...  
  
I reached for another chain.  
  
The third chain did the trick. I finally had an idea.  
  
The entrance hall floor could use another good scrubbing! I had only done it once, since   
December.   
  
Ordinarily I would never choose washing that floor as a detention-task. Not because I wish to   
spare the children's backs, hands or knees. A little hard work never did anyone any lasting harm.  
  
It's because I can't abide shoddy work. The entrance hall floor is something that I take particular   
pride in. Most of the students will try to pass half-hearted efforts off as their best job, unless they are   
carefully supervised. Being expected to do something so menial as *clean,* without magic, like a Muggle,   
is so demeaning for them.  
  
But, Potter is different from most of the other students.  
  
I discovered this when I supervised him during a detention for Professor Snape a few years back.   
Severus had asked me to have Potter scrub out a collection of filthy flasks, bottles and beakers. All with   
bits of unidentifiable old potions crusted in hard-to-reach places.  
  
Severus had probably been hoping that Potter would break a lot of them, which would give him a   
reason to sneer, scold and deduct points from Gryffindor.  
  
Potter hadn't broken a single one. And he'd gotten them to sparkle! All without any prompting   
or badgering from me!  
  
"You should have seen him, Professor!" I'd said, later. "Not a word about how hard a job it was.   
He just washed them all, right down to the very bottoms... without being told. Even the tiny ones! He just   
picked up the right-sized bottle brush and went at 'em!"  
  
"And, then," I'd continued, enthusiastically, "he dried each one carefully, making sure that there   
were no streaks! No matter what else you may think of him, Harry Potter really knows how to *clean!*"  
  
Poor Severus. He had not been pleased by this report. He'd given me one of his nastiest sneers.  
  
"Please, Filch. Do try to contain your delight. The boy is a wizard, not a house elf."  
  
I'd sighed. Many pure-bloods, in all four Houses, have this same arrogance. Power is their   
birthright. They are the magic-wielding lords of creation; meant for finer things than scrubbing. (In my   
heart, I know that I really can't blame the pure-blooded wizards for feeling this way. I'd probably be no   
different... if I wasn't a Squib.)  
  
Muggle-borns can be refreshing sometimes. At least the Muggle-borns know that their magic is   
a gift. They truly appreciate what they've been given. Potter was not Muggle-born, but he was Muggle-  
raised. The effect was the same.  
  
Severus had given me another caustic look. "I hope that you did not make a fool of yourself,   
singing the boy's praises like some empty headed celebrity-worshipper."  
  
I'd blinked at him. "You know that wouldn't be like me, Professor. Potter was only doing exactly   
what he ought to do! He didn't act as if he expected praise, and I didn't offer him any. I just wish that the   
other brats were more like him..."  
  
Severus had not been able to suppress a shudder.  
  
*******  
  
"The entrance hall floor?" Minerva said. "That's quite a big job."  
  
"Their offense merits it. They weren't only out of their beds, they were trying to sneak outside!   
Potter is certainly up to washing the entrance hall floor. He can clean like a house elf! I mean that as a   
compliment, Professor. And Creevey is full of stamina. He's like Professor Flitwick, after he's had one too   
many of those cherry syrup and sodas! It won't hurt Creevey to put all that energy into something useful.   
And, I'm not going to leave them to do it all alone. I'm going to work along with them. We can do the job   
tonight and get it over with."  
  
"The boys have been practicing on their brooms all day," Minerva said, frowning. "They're going   
to be tired..."  
  
"Tomorrow is Sunday. They can sleep late."   
  
She gave me one of her stern looks. "Admit it. You wish for a good reason to stay away from   
your rooms this evening, so you will not have to listen to poor Mrs. Norris. Honestly, Argus..."  
  
I knew that I was guilty as charged.  
  
"If you would just..." Minerva began.  
  
"No," I said, firmly.   
  
Professor McGonagall sighed.  
  
"What about Potter and Creevey?" I asked. "Do I have your permission to proceed with their   
detention this evening?"  
  
After another sigh, Minerva nodded.  
  
"Good. It's settled," I said.  
  
END OF CHAPTER TWO  
  
********  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Alchemine: Thank you!! Rowling never mentioned exactly how old Filch is. But I tend to think of him   
as being a few years older than McGonagall, who is middle-aged for a witch. In the books, Filch is very   
active, always running after students and after Peeves. He's probably no older than late-middle age. But he   
thinks of himself as "old" because he's had a hard life. Snape and Lucius Malfoy refer to Filch as "old"   
because the caretaker is old, compared to them. And, to kids Harry's age, he seems incredibly ancient.  
  
Unrepentant Reader: Thank you!! You wanted more chapters right away! That's such a nice compliment!  
  
Lataradk: Thank you!! I love the idea about the slingshots! Imagine shooting dungbombs with a   
slingshot...  
  
Good point about Rita being too "obvious" to be a Slytherin. She's got an arrogant nastiness. She doesn't   
mind if her prey knows she's after them, because they can't stop her anyway. I think I like the idea of her   
being in Ravenclaw.  
  
Jelsemium: Thank you!! Yes, Mrs. Norris didn't give Harry away because he'd just saved Filch from   
getting smooshed, and it wouldn't have been very honorable. Oooh, I don't want to think about a double-  
strength killing curse. The victim wouldn't be twice as dead, but maybe their death wouldn't leave the   
body unmarked. And the mirror might shatter as it reflected the Curse; it probably wasn't made to reflect   
something as strong as an Unforgivable.  
  
I think I saw "Xiomara" listed as Hooch's first name on one of the Harry Potter movie websites. The cast   
list included the first and last names of each character. I'm assuming that this must be the Official J. K.   
Rowling-approved first name for Madam Hooch, even though it hasn't yet appeared in the books.  
  
I put some more space between the end of the story and the notes this time.  
  
RioRaptor: Thank you!! (Say Hi to Shadow!) Harry gasped because he recognized Rita Skeeter's name. He   
wasn't expecting to know the student that Filch had confiscated the mirror from.  
  
Elspeth: Thank you!! Yes, Harry told Ron and Hermione about Filch in the morning. Filch would   
certainly not be happy if he knew that they knew. But he's not going to know. (At least not for the   
foreseeable future.)  
  
Among Filch's other treasures are a flute that will make the listeners dance, whether they want to or not.   
If played for too long, it will drive the listeners to dance themselves into exhaustion. There's also one of   
those cursed scrolls that forces a person to keep reading. Filch doesn't know that either of these things can   
be dangerous; he doesn't have the magic to make the flute work, and he just took the scroll without   
looking at it.  
  
I agree that Rita would have made a good Slytherin, but I think I'm going to put her in Ravenclaw, if the   
subject ever comes up again. The people in other houses can be sneaky too, the Slytherins have just raised   
it to an art form.  
  
I absolutely loved what you said about Lockhart, and his original name being something like "George   
Jones" or "Gilbert Blodgett." And you are right, he's probably a Gryffindor. Stealing the heroic deeds of   
all those other people would take balls of pure brass.  
  
Ariana Deralte: Thank you!! The secret of my fast writing can be summed up in a single word: insomnia.   
Yes, Moody was repeating information so Harry would get the whole story. Moody considered what he   
was doing "damage control." Moody considers Harry, along with his partners Hermione and Ron, one of   
the Castle's best "unofficial" assets. Moody knew that if Harry did not get the whole story, he wouldn't   
rest until he did.  
  
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Yes, the mirror would probably reflect the Unforgivables, though it may   
shatter the first time it did so. A double-strength Cruciatus is something I don't want to think about   
either. (Shudder.)  
  
Mrs. Norris and Moody were both hiding Harry from Filch. Mrs. Norris knew Harry was there, through   
scent, and Moody could see him. Filch doesn't know about the invisibility cloak, so the possibility that the   
"eavesdropper" was a student didn't occur to him.  
  
Gramarye: Thank you!! More Colin next chapter!  
  
Rabbit: Thank you!! Yes, I think I'll put Rita in Ravenclaw... 


	3. The Heat of the Moment

The Way of the Squib  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"  
Chapter 3: The Heat of the Moment  
  
  
  
Harry Potter and Colin Creevey were quite dismayed when Minerva informed them what their   
detention would entail. Scrubbing the floor of the Castle's vast entrance hall was not their idea of a fun   
way to spend a Saturday night.  
  
Too bad for them. Some things are necessary, even if they are not pleasant.  
  
I'd already started working when Minerva sent the boys to me.  
  
"Don't just stand there, gawking!" I said, waving my hand at more buckets, and a collection of   
brushes, mops and bottles of Magical Mess Remover.  
  
"The sooner you begin, the sooner you will finish! Life isn't all glory on the Quidditch pitch, you   
know!" I growled.  
  
Creevey continued to stare, his wide eyes taking in every inch of the vast stone floor. Then his   
head tilted back, to study the ceiling, so high up that it was hard to make out He looked even smaller than   
usual, alone in the large hall, except for Potter and me.  
  
Potter went right to work, as he usually does. He chose a bucket (which I'd already filled with   
cleaning solution, to save time,) a mop and a brush. Then he went to a part of the room well away from   
where I was scrubbing. He knelt down, dipped his brush into the bucket and began cleaning.  
  
"Creevey!" I barked. "Are you waiting for an engraved invitation? Start helping! No, boy, don't   
go over there... Potter already has that section of floor. Start from a different side and we can all work our   
way over to the middle!"  
  
I had been too tired to yell at them the night before, but I was making up for it now. My mood   
was particularly foul because I had just spent some time with Mrs. Norris in our rooms, trying to soothe   
her. My cat was wailing inconsolably, and showing little interest in either food or milk. Her yowling broke   
my heart. The thought of her alone in such a state made me miserable. But there was nothing useful I   
could do for her if I stayed.   
  
Poor Mrs. Norris was in heat, and longing desperately for the company of at least one amorous   
tomcat. Minerva and Poppy had advised me to just let her out, and allow nature to take its course. But I   
wanted to wait for Professor Flitwick to return to the Castle. Surely he would know some Charm to save   
her from the demands of pregnancy and motherhood! He would return sometime tomorrow evening... if   
Mrs. Norris and I could hold out that long.  
  
Creevey had finally started cleaning. And chattering. His clear, little voice carried loudly through   
the echoing hall.   
  
"...Dennis took lots of pictures of us practicing today, Harry! He says he thinks he got a good shot   
of that brilliant catch you made... remember when you were showing me how fast the Snitch can dive...?   
Do you think I'll ever be able to make a catch like that, Harry?"  
  
"Of course you will, Colin," Potter said, with more patience then I would have been able to   
muster under similar circumstances. "You just need a little more practice..."  
  
"Let's have a lot less TALKING and a lot more WORKING over there, boys!" I snarled. Then I   
suppressed a twinge of guilt. It was unfair of me to have included both of them in the scolding, when   
Potter was keeping pace with me quite well.  
  
Creevey managed to keep silent for a while. I could tell that it was a real strain for him.   
Eventually, he blurted out,   
  
"Ron really is an excellent Keeper! Did you know that he would be so good? He's *wild!* Half   
the time, he was only holding onto his broom with one leg! Dennis said that Hermione never even   
finished one page of her book because she kept watching Ron. She kept muttering that he was absolutely   
insane! Dennis says he got some really good pictures of Ron..."  
  
"Creevey!" I snarled, furiously. "If your hands could only move as quickly as that mouth of yours,   
we'd already be done! Shut UP!"  
  
I'd never seen little Creevey actually look abashed before.  
  
Potter, who can take any amount of scolding that's directed at him, didn't like me yelling at   
Creevey. He gave me a glare that was nearly worthy of Professor Snape.  
  
I gave him one right back. No student, no matter how well he cleans, is going to look at me like   
that!  
  
For a while, the three of us scrubbed in silence.  
  
And then, we heard it.  
  
A heart-rending yowl, echoing down, through the vast, empty space between the far-off ceiling   
and the stone floor of the entrance hall. Bouncing down the stairs, echoing off the marble of the first two   
flights.  
  
Potter and Creevey looked at each other in confusion.  
  
"Impossible! How did she get out?" I said.   
  
Both boys looked at me.  
  
"How did who get out?" Potter asked.  
  
"Never mind!" I snapped. "Keep working, Potter. And try to keep Creevey working too. I'll be   
right back!"  
  
As fast as I could, I ran up the first flight of stairs, then into a corridor, where the boys couldn't   
see me. Summoning red-and-gold, I said, "Take me to Mrs. Norris!"  
  
I emerged near the entrance to the stairwell on the fourth floor. Mrs. Norris was crouched, barely   
two feet in front of me, wailing like a heartsick feline Juliet seeking her Romeo.  
  
To make matters worse, I could hear several "Romeos" yowling right back.  
  
"Believe me, you'll be grateful for this when you return to your proper senses, my sweet..." I said,   
softly as I knelt down and reached for her. "Now, let's just get you back to our room, and..."  
  
Mrs. Norris darted nimbly out of my reach. She went racing down the corridor on the left hand   
side, rapidly disappearing around a corner and out of sight.  
  
Cursing, I summoned red-and-gold once more. "Take me to Mrs. Norris!"   
  
I caught up with her not a moment too soon. Several suitors, clearly smitten by her charms, were   
surrounding her, vying enthusiastically for her affections. The noise level was incredible.  
  
Wishing that I'd brought my mop along to use as a weapon, or at least a bucket of water, I waded   
into the melee to defend her virtue.  
  
********  
  
When I returned to the entrance hall, I was triumphant, if considerably scratched and bloodied.   
Mrs. Norris had been returned to our rooms, her honor still intact. Her swains had been left to mill about,   
wailing in disappointment.  
  
Potter and Creevey regarded my battered condition with raised eyebrows. Potter made no   
comment. Predictably, Creevey was full of questions.  
  
"Are you all right, Mr. Filch? What happened? Harry said that you must have gone to break up a   
cat-fight! Were some other cats fighting with Mrs. Norris? Is she all right?"  
  
"Yes..." I said, grimly. "Some other cats were ...fighting... with Mrs. Norris. She's fine now. I've   
locked her up where she'll be safe."  
  
Potter was biting his lip. He looked like he was trying hard to keep from laughing. I was sure that   
he knew perfectly well that the other cats hadn't wanted to "fight" with Mrs. Norris. Though I was glad   
he hadn't said as much to Creevey.  
  
Critically, I scanned the floor. As usual, it was impossible to find fault with Potter's cleaning   
efforts. My bad mood warred with my sense of justice. I almost never feel the urge to praise a student's   
work. Potter was one of the very few exceptions.  
  
I was forced to admit that Creevey's work wasn't too bad either. Not up to Potter's level, of   
course, but Creevey knew how to apply elbow-grease with the skill of most Muggle-borns.  
  
Potter had kept scrubbing at a steady pace all the time I'd been gone. Nearly to the middle of the   
entrance hall, his progress had far outstripped Creevey's. Or, for that matter, mine!  
  
Determined to catch up, I went back to work.  
  
Soon afterwards, we all heard the same yowling as before, echoing eerily down the stairs!  
  
I cursed, very loudly, forgetting for a moment that the boys were present.  
  
"How does she keep getting out?!?" I snarled, slamming my brush into the bucket.  
  
"Does Mrs. Norris *want* to fight with those other cats, Harry?" Creevey asked, wide-eyed.  
  
"I'll explain in a minute, Colin..." I heard Potter saying, as I ran up the stairs again, this time   
bringing along my mop and bucket.  
  
I was just as glad that I was going to miss out on Potter's little lesson on the various aspects of   
nature. Grimly, I wondered how he happened to know so much about cats. He didn't have a cat, he had an   
owl! Well, perhaps those Muggles he lived with had a cat...  
  
*******  
  
The number of suitors had increased. I had a difficult time getting Mrs. Norris away from them,   
particularly since she didn't want to be rescued. Though the mop and the bucket had evened up the odds a   
little. When Mrs. Norris was, at last, safely confined in her chaste bedchamber again, I limped back down   
to the entrance hall.  
  
This time, my appearance didn't amuse the boys. Potter and Creevey looked at my bloody face,   
scratched arms and ripped shirt without grinning.  
  
"Mr. Filch...?" Potter said, a little hesitantly. "Maybe you should go to the hospital wing."  
  
The thought of what Poppy would say to me, if she saw me in this state, made me cringe.   
  
"No!" I snarled.   
  
Smarting all over, I went back to work. I was hoping that I'd discouraged them from asking me   
any more questions.  
  
No such luck.  
  
"Mr. Filch...?" Creevey piped up. "Don't you want Mrs. Norris to have kittens?"  
  
I didn't have the energy to glare at him. I just sighed.   
  
"Kittens are a lot of bother." I said, wearily. "Mrs. Norris will gain weight, feel very tired and   
she'll be sick sometimes, too. And pregnancy is only the beginning. Giving birth is no picnic either! And   
then, her work really starts. All the nursing, and the teaching! Never a moment to herself. She would not   
be able to have a quiet nap without the little beasts piling themselves up all over her..."  
  
"But... Harry says that she's making all that noise because she really *wants* kittens."  
  
"She can't help that. It's instinctive. Once Professor Flitwick returns he'll be able to fix her. He   
should be back tomorrow night."   
  
`I hope...' I thought.  
  
"Fix her?" Creevey said. "You mean the same way that my cat at home is fixed? I didn't know   
Professor Flitwick was a vet! Did you know that, Harry?"  
  
"Professor Flitwick isn't a `vet," whatever that is! He's going to use a Charm on her." I said.  
  
"Oh!" Creevey exclaimed.   
  
Then, he took a deep breath and launched into a somewhat lengthy explanation of what a vet   
was. Some sort of Muggle that "fixed" cats. Not with anything as clean and neat as a Charm, either. A   
"vet" would put a cat to sleep and cut her open!"  
  
"Then," Creevey was saying, apparently not noticing that I had gone chalk white under my   
scratches, "after the uterus and all those other bits have been removed, the vet will sew her right back   
up..."  
  
"Er... Colin?" Potter said. "I think you'd better stop. Mr. Filch doesn't want to hear any more."  
  
"It doesn't hurt! Our Grizabella had it done when she was young, and she was good as new in a   
week or so!"  
  
"Colin..." Potter said, reprovingly.  
  
I was shuddering visibly. Muggles were so bloodthirsty! I'd had no idea of the sorts of crudity   
they were forced to resort to, in place of proper magic!  
  
*******  
  
When the horrific yowling began echoing down the stairs, for a third time, I just buried my head   
in my hands.  
  
"How...?" I moaned. "HOW does she keep getting out?"  
  
Then, over the loud wails of my poor, love-sick cat, Potter, Creevey and I all heard the sound of   
a familiar cackle.  
  
"Poor, poor old Filch! Doesn't want kittens, does he? Too much mess and bother! Well, isn't that   
just too bad for old Filch!"  
  
"Peeves...?" I said, faintly.  
  
The wretched poltergeist appeared, floating in the air over my head. He was rolling about in mid-  
air, laughing madly.  
  
"PEEVES!" I shrieked, swinging my mop at him. "HAVE YOU BEEN LETTING MRS.   
NORRIS OUT OF MY ROOM?"  
  
"Poor, sweet Mrs. Norris!" Peeves said, in mock-sympathetic tones. "Poor, sweet, dear *lonely*   
Mrs. Norris! I was just doing her a favor, I was!"  
  
The poltergeist floated just out of my reach, glaring at me wickedly.   
  
I knew that this was revenge. He'd been angry because I had not given him a proper show the   
night before, when he and I had caught Potter and Creevey trying to sneak out of the Castle for some   
nighttime flying practice!  
  
He was getting a show now. I could not remember the last time I had been so angry! I knew that   
my eyes were popping. I could feel my face and body trembling with fury. Spit flew from my mouth as I   
raged incoherently. I knew that I didn't have the strength to fight Mrs. Norris's admirers off for a third   
time...  
  
I tried to leap into the air and throttle Peeves. But both Potter and Creevey were holding my   
arms.  
  
"Calm down, Mr. Filch," Potter was saying, alarmed. Then, he said something that astonished   
me.  
  
"Would it be all right if I tried to get the other cats away from her for you? I could use a Stunning   
spell, or I could put them to sleep..."  
  
"Yes!" Creevey said, jumping up and down. "I'll help you, Harry! That's a brilliant idea!"  
  
"You couldn't possibly..." I said, twisting my hands together. "Up all those stairs? You'd be   
exhausted by the time you found them! And being able to get to where the cats are isn't enough! I've done   
that twice already, and it's the easy part!"  
  
It was, too. My Doors were only a little bit of help with this particular problem. Mrs. Norris was   
still too fast for me, and she didn't want to be caught  
  
Shaking my head in despair, I went on. "You'd have to be able to keep up with them to Stun   
them, wouldn't you? All those cats, all moving so fast?"   
  
"You'd need to be able to fly...." I said.  
  
The three of us all looked at each other, while Peeves cackled madly over our heads.  
  
The same thought had obviously just occurred to Potter, Creevey and me. The boys' eyes both   
shone with delight.  
  
"No," I said weakly. "Never! Not inside the Castle! It's not allowed! Against the Rules..."  
  
"Kittens!" Peeves crowed in delight. "There'll be kittens everywhere! Poor, poor Filch! Will you   
be able to find good homes for all of *this* batch?"  
  
Something inside me snapped.  
  
"Damn you!" I screamed, shaking my fists at the poltergeist. I turned and glared at Potter and   
Creevey.   
  
"All right!" I bellowed. "Do it! Call your brooms! Get yourselves up there and STUN those   
amorous Toms! Do whatever you have to do, but keep them away from Mrs. Norris!!"  
  
I'd shocked Peeves.   
  
I'd shocked Potter.   
  
I'd shocked Creevey.   
  
For that matter, I'd shocked myself.  
  
But it was too late to take it back.  
  
Potter's eyes were dancing with delight.  
  
Creevey's face was shining.  
  
"Accio Firebolt!" Potter said.  
  
"Accio Shooting Star!" Creevey said.  
  
Twin blasts of magic blazed past me, racing up the stairs, towards Gryffindor tower.  
  
END OF CHAPTER THREE  
  
*******  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
  
Mouse: Thank you!!! I don't like Rita Skeeter as a person, but I do like her very much as a character. She   
makes a great person "you love to hate."   
  
I agree that she would make a perfect Slytherin. I confess that my reluctance to put her in Slytherin is   
purely emotional. One of the things that bothers me about the actual Harry Potter books is that Rowling   
seems to automatically stick most of the "bad guys" in Slytherin. And, many of the Slytherins' names are   
vaguely unpleasant-sounding, or mean "bad." Like the "mal" in Malfoy, or "Malcom" or the "Bad" in   
Baddock. There are a few exceptions to the "Bad Guys are from Slytherin" rule, like Peter Pettigrew, but   
Pettigrew is balanced out by many positive Gryffindors. I would be a lot less reluctant to make Rita a   
Slytherin, if Rowling had a few unambiguously good Slytherins to balance all the "Bad" ones.  
  
(That sort of thing always did bother me, even as a kid, when I saw it in books that I really loved. I   
remember getting upset when I read "Lord of the Rings." I cried over the Orcs. Weren't there any "good"   
Orcs? If you're an Orc, then you're automatically evil? Every other creature in Middle Earth seemed to   
have a choice! Why didn't the Orcs?  
  
Among the books I enjoy now are the many volumes of the Redwall series. But it bothers me that all the   
Rats and Weasels and Stoats are EVIL. Well, okay, there's been one good rat.)  
  
The issue of Rita's House may not come up in the story again. Boy, do I feel sorry for the Sorting Hat...  
  
Elspeth: Thank you!! Filch was just too tired to yell. And Peeves wanted Filch to yell, and put on a good   
show for him. Filch decided that he'd rather not, thank you very much. Peeves is getting his revenge on   
Filch for that, in this chapter.  
  
Lataradk: Thank you!! That scene with Snape getting angry when Filch praised Harry's cleaning skills   
was fun to write.   
  
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Poor Filch does need his sleep. He doesn't seem to need much, but he really   
needs more than he gets.  
  
Rabbit: Thank you for your kind words and thank you for giving me the `Filch reacts to the Muggle vet's   
solution" idea!!  
  
I think, perhaps, a wizard's familiar, (even a Squib's) might have a longer than usual life-span. Mr. &   
Mrs. Weasley didn't seem worried when Scabbers lasted far longer than a normal rat would.  
  
  
Filch's reaction to Harry's situation at the Dursleys was interesting to think about. The unfair difference   
in the way that Harry and Dudley get treated would be the first thing that made him angry. The more he   
discovered about poor Harry's home situation, the angrier he would get.  
  
Unrepentant Reader: Thank you!! Filch was terribly traumatized, the last time that Mrs. Norris had   
kittens. Something sad happened, and he never really got over it.  
  
Alchemine: Thank you!! The discomforts of pregnancy are only part of the reason that Filch doesn't want   
Mrs. Norris to have another litter of little Norrises. (If that part of the backstory doesn't make it into the   
actual story, I'll elaborate later.)  
  
Filch: Minerva...? Marry....? (Blushes and stammers incoherently and dashes off to polish his "worry   
beads.")  
  
Filch would definitely be upset if he knew why Harry's so good at cleaning. His own parents made sure   
that he knew how to work hard because they knew he'd have to. He's assuming that Harry's situation is   
something like his own.  
  
Gramarye: Thank you!! Colin is a fun character to write!! I love Ron as the new Gryffindor Keeper!!   
Thank you for that idea too!  
  
RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you and Thank you!! I loved your reactions to Colin and his camera!! 


	4. A Fate Worse Than Kittens

The Way of the Squib  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"  
Chapter 4: A Fate Worse Than Kittens  
  
  
  
  
Mounted on their brooms, Harry Potter and Colin Creevey went soaring up towards the distant   
entrance hall ceiling. The young wizards had a mission; they were attempting to track down and Stun the   
band of yowling, amorous tomcats currently pursuing my poor Mrs. Norris through the corridors of   
Hogwarts Castle.  
  
If my sweet cat hadn't been in heat, she wouldn't have given any of those uncouth feline ruffians   
the time of day! Unfortunately, she was a complete slave to her biological urges at the moment. Some of   
the heart-rending, lovesick cries belonged to her, too.  
  
I stood in the entrance hall, far below the boys, unable to believe what I had just done.  
  
I'd really given Potter and Creevey my permission to fly their brooms. Through the Castle   
corridors. At night!   
  
"Against the Rules" did not even *begin* to convey the enormity of my crime!  
  
Peeves was hovering in the air over my head. From the look of him, he was also having trouble   
believing what I'd done. The poltergeist's eyes were as wide and huge as a house-elf's.  
  
Some of this was his fault too! He'd kept letting Mrs. Norris out of our rooms, finally driving me   
to take drastic measures to ensure her continued chastity!  
  
Peeves and I saw the boys pause at top of the stairs leading to the fifth floor. They hovered for a   
moment. Then, with Potter leading, they flew through the door, and out of our sight.  
  
Peeves found his voice. "Shall I start handing out detentions, then?" The poltergeist asked me,   
indignantly. "Shall I start punishing students? Filling out forms? Get myself an office?"  
  
"What are you going on about, Peeves?" I muttered.  
  
"If you're going to start making mischief, then what am I supposed to do?!" Peeves fumed.  
  
"I'm not making mischief! I'm trying to prevent it!" I snarled.  
  
The sound of yowling cats increased in volume. Potter and Creevey had apparently herded the   
band of felines back towards the main staircase. With a raucous cacophony of bouncing echoes, the cats   
surged down the stairs, like a furry, multicolored waterfall.   
  
Whooping and yelling and generally making as much noise as the cats (even though there were   
only two of them) Potter and Creevey both went into heart-stoppingly steep dives.  
  
"If you're `preventing mischief,' what's all this, then?" Peeves yelled, over the noise.  
  
"Shut UP!" I said, trying to catch sight of Mrs. Norris among the other cats.  
  
There she was, visible in the midst of her troop of admirers. I did a rapid count, estimating their   
number at around twenty cats, at least!  
  
"Good shot, Colin!" Potter shouted, as Creevey dropped a large, white tom.  
  
"That makes six for me, Harry!" Creevey exulted shrilly. "I've nearly caught up to you!"  
  
"Not quite..." Potter called back, "I've gotten eleven now!"  
  
"Er... I guess that's twelve for you, then," Creevey said, as Potter quickly Stunned a rusty-red   
tom.  
  
"Stop making so much noise!" I bellowed up at them, through cupped hands. "Between you and   
the cats, you'll wake up the whole damn Castle!"  
  
My own shout echoed off the vast, high ceiling.   
  
I cringed, putting my hands over my mouth.  
  
"Sorry!" they shouted down to me in unison; Potter's voice, husky and deepening, and Creevey's,   
still very young and shrill. Even more echoes filled the entrance hall.  
  
The cats, with Mrs. Norris leading, swept through the door leading to the third floor.   
  
Potter and Creevey raced after them. The two toms that they'd just Stunned were left behind,   
resting quietly on the stairs.  
  
Peeves started to cackle wickedly his mood brightening.   
  
"Oh, what fun this is!" he cried. "Maybe I should tell the Headmaster... it would be for your own   
good, really. Then again, maybe I shan't. His Headship might have Snape beat you bloody this time, and   
you're bloody enough already."  
  
"Poor Filch," he added, with gleeful false sympathy. "So many bites and scratches! What's the   
matter? Didn't Mrs. Norris and her friends *like* having their fun interrupted?"  
  
Overcome with laughter, the poltergeist flew up towards the third floor, following the boys and   
the cats.  
  
*******  
  
The boys, the cats and the Poltergeist were all moving very fast. But I was able to keep close   
behind them, thanks to my Doors.   
  
Everywhere I looked I seemed to see another Stunned tomcat.   
  
Good! Each one down meant another ruffian who would not be able to pursue my sweet girl!   
Unfortunately, Hogwarts Castle seemed to have an endless supply of male cats! For every cat Stunned,   
another one seemed to join the chase.  
  
Grimly, I thought about what Creevey had told me about the Muggles called "vets." Did these   
Muggles also practice their barbarism on the males of the species? Most likely they did. And it was easy to   
guess what a vet must cut off, to "fix" a male. As much as the thought made me wince in sympathy, I   
almost wished that Creevey could fetch a vet for me, and set the Muggle loose on the Castle's toms.  
  
I was in the Library corridor. The mob of cats must have changed direction because they were   
running towards me now. Ah, I'd been hoping for such a chance! When Mrs. Norris came into view I   
sprang towards her.  
  
Making a lucky catch, I grabbed her away from the circle of her admirers!  
  
My sweet cat promptly became a bundle of claws and teeth in my arms.   
  
Yelling in pain, I was forced to let her go.  
  
And then I had to throw myself flat on the floor as Potter and Creevey came speeding down the   
corridor, straight at me. The boys were flying extremely low, less than three feet above the floor.  
  
I could hear Peeves' obnoxious cackles of delight.  
  
"It helps a bit if you try to think of them as Bludgers, with claws and teeth!" Potter was yelling.  
  
"This gives me a whole new respect for Fred and George!" Creevey yelled back.  
  
"Don't play Quidditch with them... STUN them!" I snarled, just as a terrible wave of cold swept   
over me from behind.  
  
"What... is... the MEANING of this?" demanded a rather dry, dusty voice. "Explain yourselves,   
all of you!"  
  
Potter and Creevey both performed flawless hairpin turns, and came back down the corridor to   
hover in front of the furious Professor.  
  
Peeves seemed to have disappeared.  
  
"Er... hello, Professor Binns," Potter said, breathlessly. "We're just trying to help Mr. Filch   
rescue his cat!"  
  
"On your brooms?" Binns said, getting even paler and more transparent than usual. I couldn't   
tell if it was from shock, or anger.  
  
"But Mr. Filch *said* we could!" Creevey piped up.   
  
"Is this true?" Hogwarts' only ghost-Professor asked me, sternly.  
  
"Yes, sir..." I said, picking myself up off the floor. I turned around to face him, flushing with   
embarrassment.  
  
Binns stared at me as if he'd never seen anyone quite so appalling, on either side of the grave.  
  
"I shall speak to the Headmaster about you, young Filch!" the ghost said, coldly. "And, I shall   
speak to Mr. Pringle as well!"   
  
He turned and swept off down the corridor, in a huff.  
  
"Who's Mr. Pringle?" Creevey asked.  
  
"He was the caretaker before Mr. Filch." Potter said. "Ron's Mum and Dad were at school then.   
It was ages ago."  
  
"He's dead, now," I said.  
  
"Oh!" Creevey was wide-eyed. "Can Professor Binns talk to another dead person, even if they   
aren't a ghost?"  
  
Potter looked at me, questioningly.  
  
"How should I know? It never occurred to me to wonder about a thing like that!" I said, with   
considerable irritation. Honestly, where did Creevey get these questions?  
  
"Do you think he's really going to fetch Dumbledore?" Potter asked me.  
  
At least that was a sensible question.  
  
"I don't know. Don't worry. I'm taking full responsibility for this," I said, glumly.  
  
Potter straightened his glasses. He grinned at me as he ran a hand though his perennially messy   
black hair. "Well, the Headmaster isn't here yet, and we haven't rescued Mrs. Norris. Are you still with   
me, Colin?"  
  
"Yeah, Harry!" Creevey said, with characteristic enthusiasm.   
  
They took off down the corridor together, like a pair of bolts shot from Hagrid's crossbow.  
  
"Remember! *No* playing about!" I yelled after them.  
  
*******  
  
Tired and sore, I asked red-and-gold to take me back to the entrance hall. I simply didn't have it   
in me to chase the cats any longer. I would have to trust the boys to guard my sweet one's honor. Someone   
had to finish scrubbing the floor, didn't they?  
  
The next time I heard Hogwarts' feline version of the Wild Hunt, it appeared that Potter and   
Creevey had pursued the cats up to the highest staircase. I could only distinguish a very few distinct cats'   
voices among the yowls, when they began to descend again.   
  
When the chase grew close enough for me to see, I noted that Mrs. Norris was now accompanied   
by only two stalwart swains. One tom was large and black. The other tom was even larger, with fluffy   
ginger fur and an oddly squashed looking face.  
  
Potter and Creevey were doing those heart-stopping steep dives once more, matching the cats'   
breakneck speed.  
  
Potter fired a spell, and Stunned the black tom.  
  
"Only one more left!" I shouted. "What are you waiting for? Get him!"  
  
Still diving, the boys exchanged a glance.  
  
"Hermione may never forgive us..." I heard Potter say, as he aimed.  
  
It was then, just when I thought it was all over, that disaster struck.  
  
Peeves had not been heard from in quite a while. He must have been shadowing the boys, keeping   
invisible, and enjoying the fun.  
  
But, if Potter and Creevey were to eliminate the very last tom, the fun would be over! Peeves   
couldn't allow that to happen.  
  
He appeared suddenly, directly in the path of the boys' flight. His arms were outstretched and he   
looked as if he intended to stay right where he was.  
  
Potter swerved to avoid the poltergeist.  
  
But, Creevey, less experienced and probably tired to boot, crashed right into Peeves.  
  
The poltergeist had made himself very solid.  
  
Creevey was knocked from his Shooting Star. The mousy-haired boy plummeted downward,   
headfirst, towards the stone floor forty feet below.  
  
"Colin!!!" Potter shouted.  
  
My heart in my mouth, I was too terrified to make a sound. I was sure that the child would be   
killed!   
  
Sick with horror, I even forgot about poor Mrs. Norris. When she and the ginger tom reached the   
floor of the entrance hall, racing past me on their way over to the dungeon stairs, I didn't even try to stop   
them.   
  
The pair of feline lovers went dashing down, into the dungeons, out of sight.  
  
Moaning, I covered my eyes. Poor little Creevey was doomed! It was all my fault! I couldn't bear   
to watch!  
  
And so, I missed seeing one of Harry Potter's greatest catches.  
  
I didn't open my eyes until I heard Creevey say, breathlessly,  
  
"Brilliant save, Harry! Thanks!"  
  
Potter had caught his fellow Gryffindor just six feet away from a very messy death. He was   
holding on to Creevey's ankles with both hands, hanging upside down from his Firebolt, clinging to the   
broom with his knees.  
  
A moment later, the boys were back down on the clean floor. I was so relieved that they were   
both safe that I could have embraced them. Fortunately, for all three of us, I was still too weak and badly   
shaken by Creevey's near escape to move.  
  
"Wow!" Creevey kept saying, as he summoned his Shooting Star down into his hand. "That was   
*so* cool! I bet that no one in the history of Hogwarts has *ever* had a detention this cool! Right Harry?   
Right?"  
  
Potter was as white as a sheet.   
  
I'd seen Alastor Moody like this, recently. So pale that his many scars were invisible. Potter was   
that pale. The famous lightning scar on his forehead seemed to have vanished.  
  
As Colin continued to chatter and thank him, Potter looked at me. The expression in his green   
eyes made him seem almost ancient. No boy his age should ever look like that.  
  
It was especially shocking to see that look on a face that so resembled James Potter's. James had   
never lost that devil-may-care recklessness in all time I'd known him. Poor boy, he'd always seemed to   
have faith that things would turn out all right in the end.  
  
Not Harry. He knew how close to disaster we'd come. I could see the specter of poor, lost Cedric   
Diggory in his green eyes as he clapped Colin's shoulder.  
  
"All right, Colin...?" Harry asked gruffly, the color slowly returning to his face. "You did some   
excellent flying yourself..."  
  
"But Mrs. Norris still got away from us!" Colin cried. "With Crookshanks! I saw them running   
down to the dungeons! Do you want us to go after them, Mr. Filch?"  
  
Faintly, echoing up the stairs from the dungeons, we could hear the two cats' voices raised in   
triumphant nuptial bliss.  
  
"No..." I said, weakly. "Let them go, Colin."  
  
His eyes widened. "Does that mean...? Oh! Hermione's going to be a gran!! Isn't that wonderful,   
Harry? Do you think she'll be glad?"  
  
"Yes, Colin. It's wonderful. I'm sure Hermione will be very glad." Potter managed a smile.  
  
"Your detention is over, boys. Thank you for all you did," I said. My voice was very faint.  
  
A sudden shriek overhead made all three of us look up.  
  
Peeves, apparently, had been hoping to sneak away unnoticed. He hadn't been successful. The   
poltergeist was struggling helplessly in the grasp of the one being in the Castle that he truly feared.  
  
A gaunt, staring ghost, covered in silvery blood stains, had Peeves firmly by the collar.  
  
"Thank you, Baron," said a stern, clear voice. "You can leave the others to me."  
  
Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase, carefully stepping around the   
Stunned tomcats in her path. Her mouth was the thinnest of lines. The fierce look in her grey eyes made   
Potter, Creevey and me cringe.  
  
"Professor Binns was on his way to the Headmaster, with a most interesting tale to tell," Minerva   
said. "As it happens, he met the Baron and me, instead."  
  
*******  
  
I did not know what the Baron was doing to Peeves, but it must have hurt. The poltergeist's   
howls were audible from where I sat, in my broom cupboard, on an upturned cardboard box.  
  
Unfortunately, I couldn't enjoy a good gloat at Peeves' expense at the moment. I was too busy   
shrieking with pain myself.  
  
"What *is* that stuff?" I gasped, when I could talk. "It STINGS!"  
  
"Muggles refer to it as `iodine.'" Minerva told me, briskly. "And it was your decision not to go to   
see Poppy, like a sensible man, so you have no one to blame for this except yourself."  
  
Finished with the scratches on my arms, she dabbed a clean cloth, dipped in iodine, on my   
gouged nose.  
  
I yelled even louder than Peeves. And I was sure that the poltergeist could hear me, just as well   
as I could hear him.  
  
"These wounds must be cleaned out. Some of these scratches are rather deep," Minerva said. She   
was holding my chin, firmly as I tried to flinch away. "Very prone to infections, cat-scratches are. Don't   
squirm about so, Argus!"  
  
Not looking terribly sorry for me, she began working at a long scratch under my right eye.  
  
"Oh, well," I consoled myself, as I cried out in misery once more. "At least Peeves will consider   
us `even' now. And he won't want tonight's events referred to, ever again, any more than I will..."  
  
Potter and Creevey, both apparently familiar with the effects of `iodine,' were watching me with   
sympathy. The boys were handing Minerva clean cloths whenever she asked.  
  
Minerva had already given all three of us a very stern Talking To. Even though I had admitted to   
her that the whole fiasco was my fault, she'd included the boys in her scolding.  
  
"They should have known better than to listen to a man who had clearly taken leave of his   
senses!" she said, grimly.  
  
Potter was still pale. "Yes, Professor..." he said, quietly.   
  
Minerva's face softened a bit, when she saw the look on his face. "Well, there was no lasting   
harm done. As long as you and Colin both understand that tonight's antics are never to be repeated   
again."  
  
"Yes, Professor," Potter repeated.  
  
Creevey nodded vigorously. "We'll never do it again!" He said. Even he was looking a bit sober.  
  
"I believe you. And I will not assign you a further detention. I shudder to think what Mr. Filch   
might have you do."  
  
Ouch! That stung, even worse than iodine! I suppose I'd deserved it.  
  
"I know we were lucky, Professor," I admitted, terribly ashamed. "But I wouldn't say there was   
no lasting harm done..."   
  
Minerva looked at me in exasperation. "There are fates worse than kittens, Argus."  
  
"I know..." I whispered, looking at Colin, grateful that he was alive and well. "B-but..."  
  
"Why are you so set against Mrs. Norris having kittens?" Harry wanted to know. "She's not   
young, but she's not old either. She'll take good care of them. It's what cats are supposed to do. She must   
have had kittens before."  
  
The boy deserved an honest answer.  
  
"The last time she had kittens was years ago," I said. "It was before you came. During Percy   
Weasley's first year. One of the kittens died. It was an accident."   
  
The expressions of sympathy on the boys' faces made my voice grow harsh.  
  
"That particular kitten was always too adventurous for its own good!" I said, angrily.   
  
I would never forget poor Mrs. Norris's grief. She'd searched for her lost catling everywhere.   
Cried piteously when she'd found him.   
  
"Well, these things happen," I continued gruffly. "Little animals are fragile. Life is unfair. At   
least I didn't get completely ridiculous about it and weep like Hagrid would have done! Wouldn't have   
brought the dead kitten back, would it?"  
  
Minerva, Harry and Colin all looked at me, sternly. It was Harry who spoke first, leaping to   
Hagrid's defense.  
  
"Hagrid isn't ridiculous!" Potter said, heatedly. "He might cry when something's hurting him,   
but he gets over things! Hagrid wouldn't be afraid to let Mrs. Norris have more kittens, if that's what she   
needed to do!"  
  
I glowered at the boy, feeling as if I'd been dosed with pepperup potion. Surely there was steam   
coming out of my ears. What impudence!  
  
The worst thing was.... he was absolutely right.  
  
I looked away first, staring at the floor.  
  
"What happened to the other kittens?" Colin piped up.  
  
"They went to good homes," Minerva answered him, smiling. "Heather Abbott, Hannah's sister   
took the two little queens. Named them `Tansy' and `Rue.'" Milton Bulstrode took one of the little toms.   
Named him 'Agamemnon.' Who took the other tom, Argus?"  
  
"Cecily Brocklehurst. She named him 'Merlin.'" I said, still miserable. "Mrs. Norris saw to the   
choosing herself. "  
  
"Did the one who died have a name?" Colin asked me.  
  
"No," I said, gruffly.  
  
He was silent for a moment, but perked up again almost immediately. "Do you think that Mrs.   
Norris will let me have one of this litter? I'd like a kitten! What do you think the kittens will look like?   
Will they be grey or ginger-colored? Maybe Mrs. Norris will let Dennis have a kitten too! That way my   
kitten and Dennis's could stay together, like Hannah's sister's two cats! I'm sure that Mrs. Norris would   
let Ginny have a kitten. Ginny's always wanted one. Mrs. Norris is very fond of Ginny. What do you think   
I should call my kitten, Harry?"  
  
It was amazing. He'd said all that, without even stopping to breathe.  
  
Minerva had finished tending the last of my wounds. She stood up. "Off to bed with you, Harry.   
Off to bed, with you, Colin. It's very late. Carry your brooms, mind you. There will be no more flying in   
the Castle!"  
  
"Yes, Professor!" Colin chirped, still bouncing enthusiastically as he headed into the corridor.   
"Do you want to have a race, Harry? Don't worry, Professor, I mean a running-race! Harry's fast, but I   
can keep up. And I'm getting faster, aren't I, Harry? Seekers need to build up their stamina...."  
  
Still prattling away, Creevey trotted into the hall.  
  
Harry grinned at the smaller boy with both affection and exasperation. For a moment he looked   
older than his years again. Not careworn and ancient, simply old enough to understand that little creatures   
might be a bother, but they were also very precious.  
  
The look was gone in a moment, but seeing it took my breath away. Potter deserved my thanks   
for many things; for saving Creevey, for his hard work, for his insight, uncomfortable though it was. But,   
by the time I found my voice again, he was gone.  
  
He and Creevey were racing each other up the stairs towards Gryffindor tower, brooms over their   
shoulders.   
  
Children.  
  
Minerva was smiling at me, her eyes bright. She'd seen Potter's face too.  
  
"I know..." she murmured. "Sometimes the maturity in children can amaze me too. Almost as   
much as the immaturity in certain adults."  
  
I winced.  
  
END OF CHAPTER FOUR  
  
********  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
Yup, Crookshanks was the purrrfect choice for the kittens' father. No other tom would do.  
  
Minerva's use of iodine to patch up Filch, was inspired by a scene in Andolyn's story "Muggle."  
  
UnrepentantReader: Thank you!! Peeves also wondered what the world was coming to when Filch started   
breaking the rules.  
  
Danalas: Thank you for your kind comments, and for the lightsabers and the peaches!!  
  
RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you & Thank you!! Filch is hoping that Snape will never find out that he   
allowed Harry and Colin to go flying around the Castle on their brooms.  
  
Ariana Deralte: Thank you!! The Bloody Baron remains the best way to take care of Peeves... the Doors   
probably wouldn't work on ghosts.  
  
Gramarye: Thank you!! I like Ron very much and am hoping to coax him into a chapter. Maybe the next   
one.  
  
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Yes, if Filch could use a wand, Peeves would be TOAST. Harry and Colin just   
told Professor Binns the truth, since Filch was right there to back them up.  
  
Rabbit: Thank you!!  
  
Elspeth: Thank you!! I was going to have Professor McGonagall be the one to catch them, but then   
Professor Binns started waving his ghostly hand saying "Let me!" So I did.  
  
Professor Snape couldn't catch Harry and Colin because he was in his room, fast asleep. (That is, he   
*was* asleep. Then Mrs. Norris and Crookshanks wandered down the corridor outside Snape's rooms   
with romance on their minds....) ;-)  
  
Quoth the Raven: Thank you!! I love the idea of Ron as Keeper! (It's not mine, I got it from Gramarye.)   
Mrs. Norris hasn't put Harry on her short list of "favorites," but he's no longer on the "scratch first and   
ask questions later" list. He did save Filch's life.  
  
Good point that people in the other houses do demonstrate negative qualities. I knew in my heart that   
Rita was a perfect Slytherin, I just felt bad about putting her there. But, if it comes up in the story again, I   
suppose I will say that she was a Slytherin. I guess she wouldn't have been happy anywhere else, not even   
in Ravenclaw...  
  
Lataradk: Thank you!! Cat scratches are quite nasty. Argus knows now that he made a bad mistake by   
letting Harry and Colin fly their brooms in the Castle, but he already feels punished enough; first by all   
the bites and scratches, and then by Minerva and her iodine. So, he's not going to beat himself up over his   
mistake forever.  
  
Re: Lord of the Rings, I always loved that scene when Galadriel was tempted by the Ring. "I shall be   
beautiful and terrible and all shall love me and despair!" And then, she had the strength to turn away.   
Awesome! Yes, a Tolkien Elf gone Dark would make an incredible villain!  
  
Mystical Witch: Thank you!! Yes, Mrs. Norris is pregnant. Haven't decided how many kittens yet. I   
couldn't resist letting her get pregnant. The idea of Filch dealing with kittens is so amusing.  
  
Greenearth: Thank you!! Here's more!  
  
Alchemine: Thank you!! A while back someone asked why Mrs. Norris was "Mrs." And I got the idea to   
write a story about her having kittens. Along with the idea came an image of Filch, defending her honor   
with his mop and bucket. I knew I'd have to use it eventually. 


	5. Terra Incognita

The Way of the Squib  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"  
Chapter 5: Terra Incognita  
  
  
  
"Oh, honestly!" Hermione Granger exclaimed. "The nonsense that woman comes up with!"  
  
"That `woman' happens to be a Professor. You shouldn't speak of her that way. It's   
disrespectful." I tried to sound stern, but my voice quivered.  
  
"Professor Trelawney speaks in vague generalities! She leaves most of the real work to her   
listeners' imaginations, Mr. Filch," Hermione said. "I wouldn't worry about anything she says she saw in   
your tea leaves."  
  
"But, she told me that the thing I feared would happen! Before the start of summer!" I said,   
miserably.   
  
It wasn't the damp chill of the corridor outside Professor Snape's Potions classroom that made   
me shiver. It was the memory of the grave, knowing expression in Sibyll Trelawney's magnified eyes.  
  
These days I often felt as if the familiar Castle corridors had shifted into strange new pathways,   
leaving me lost and vulnerable. There was no use trying to hide the fact that the Divination Professor had   
scared me.   
  
I'd been in the dungeon corridor on my way back to my office when the Gryffindors and the   
Slytherins had come out of Potions, their last class of the day. Hermione had seen the frightened look on   
my face. She'd immediately stopped to ask me what was wrong.  
  
I'd found myself telling her and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley about my afternoon spent making   
repairs in Sibyll Trelawney's attic classroom.  
  
Not long ago a conversation like this, with a group of students, would have been impossible for   
me to imagine.  
  
All changes, even changes for the better, can be a little frightening.  
  
And a greater, truly frightening change was coming. Mrs. Norris, my sweet cat, was to become a   
mother. Hermione's ginger tom, Crookshanks, was the kittens' father. Cats do not seem to spend an   
inordinate amount of time brooding about the past or worrying about the future, but humans do. I was   
worrying enough for everyone.   
  
Mrs. Norris had known the joys and sorrows of motherhood before. She'd lost one of her kittens.   
It was a pain that I'd hoped she'd never have to endure again.  
  
*******  
  
Hermione's response to the news of Crookshanks' impending fatherhood had been typical for   
her. She'd come up to me, at breakfast in the great hall yesterday morning, with several books in her   
arms.   
  
"Have you circled today on your calendar, Mr. Filch?" she asked me, in a business-like way after   
a polite "good morning."   
  
"W-what?" I'd stammered.  
  
"Most mother cats deliver their kittens between sixty-four and sixty-six days after breeding,"   
Hermione had said, as if the answer was obvious.   
  
"Of course, most female cats require more breedings within a twenty four hour period in order for   
ovulation to occur, so we can't be sure if conception has actually taken place yet. Though I haven't seen   
Crookshanks this morning. I'm assuming that he's still with Mrs. Norris. So, if we start counting from   
today..."  
  
I'd slid my barely-touched breakfast aside and stared blearily at her.   
  
As usual, Hermione had been accompanied by Harry and Ron. Harry was looking apologetically   
at me, and Ron was munching on a piece of toast.  
  
"I've told Hermione about what happened at detention last night," Harry had said, when   
Hermione stopped to breathe.   
  
"She's awfully excited about being a `gran.'" Ron had added with a laugh, nearly choking on his   
toast.  
  
Hermione had put most of her books down on the staff table, next to my breakfast, so she could   
leaf through the largest one. I read the title. It was "The Care and Feeding of Wizards' Familiars,   
Volume One: The Cat."  
  
"It's never too soon to start thinking about a nesting box..." Hermione had said. "There are some   
illustrations in here that are quite good. Unless you still have one from last time? Harry told me that it was   
years ago."  
  
"No." I'd answered, softly. "I didn't keep anything. Mrs. Norris will need a new nesting box."  
  
Beaming, Hermione had started showing me the pictures.  
  
I had to admit that it was a comfort to have another human who cared as much for the kittens'   
safety and welfare as I did.  
  
*******  
  
"Nothing is going to happen to these kittens," Hermione told me now, firmly. "They'll be well   
protected with you, me, Mrs. Norris and Crookshanks looking after them."  
  
I was still upset, and must have looked it.   
  
Hermione actually took one of my knobbly, scratched up hands in hers and gave it a comforting   
pat.   
  
"Professor Trelawney simply enjoys frightening people out of their wits," she said, soothingly.   
"Not a very nice thank you for fixing those squeaky trap door hinges of hers, was it!"  
  
"It's true!" Ron said, "Professor Trelawny's nothing but a right old fraud, and she does love to   
scare people."  
  
"She's like a boggart, with great big glasses! She gives a few threatening hints in that misty voice   
of hers and your own mind does the rest. It's all rubbish. Harry and I used to make up our Divination   
homework most of the time. Tell him, Harry."  
  
Potter's green eyes were serious. "How did Professor Trelawney sound when she made her   
prediction?"  
  
I shrugged. "I don't know. Mysterious and omniscient. Like she always sounds."  
  
The boy relaxed. "I wouldn't worry then. But, the next time she offers you a cup of tea, you   
should just say `no, thanks!'"  
  
He was right.   
  
"A quiet cuppa with Trelawney is far more dangerous than a few drinks with Hagrid..." I   
muttered. "I should have known better."  
  
My heart was still pounding, though.  
  
Ron's freckled face was full of mischief. "She probably doesn't even know about Mrs. Norris and   
Crookshanks. Maybe she just wanted you to think that someone else was going to play a game of   
"Corridor-Quidditch" during detention!"  
  
"Using cats for Bludgers, the Quaffle and the Snitch!" Harry added, grinning.  
  
"And that Professor McGonagall would find out, blame you, and claw you to bloody ribbons   
again!" Ron concluded.   
  
Both boys snickered.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes at them, and I glared.  
  
"But, that's what happened Saturday night," Harry said, innocently. "Haven't you heard the   
rumors?"  
  
"That's just one of the stories," Ron said. "I like the version where Harry and Colin used hover   
charms to fly around on your mops, and chased cats around the Castle."  
  
I glowered even more.  
  
The boys seemed satisfied that they'd returned me to my proper mental state.  
  
"Twenty points from Gryffindor, for loitering in the corridor and making noise outside my   
classroom!"   
  
Professor Snape was standing in his classroom doorway, looking more sour than usual and rather   
tired.  
  
For once, he didn't favor Harry with his most threatening sneer. That honor was reserved for   
Hermione and me.   
  
"I might have known it would be the two of you!" Snape said, coldly. "You're as bad as those   
wretched animals of yours."  
  
"Have you seen Crookshanks and Mrs. Norris, Professor?" Hermione asked. "We've haven't seen   
them since Saturday."  
  
"Seen them?" Snape shuddered. "No. Heard them? Yes, unfortunately. For most of the past two   
nights in fact! They are usually somewhere in the corridor, outside my rooms."  
  
" Cursed caterwauling copulating machines..." he snarled, under his breath.  
  
This was too much for Harry and Ron. Both boys were turning beet red, with stifled laughter.  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Twenty more points from Gryffindor."  
  
"Please, Professor. We're waiting for Neville..." Hermione said.  
  
"Don't bother. Mr. Longbottom will be awhile," Severus said, unpleasantly. "He believes that he   
can actually salvage his cauldron. Don't expect to see him at dinner. He may be here all night."   
  
His sneer dissolved into a yawn.  
  
"What happened to Neville's cauldron?" I asked Hermione, Harry and Ron.  
  
"You don't want to know..." Ron said. "But, at least he didn't turn everyone purple this time."  
  
"Filch!" Snape snarled at me. "Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"To help Neville clean his cauldron, Professor," I said. "You don't *really* want him in your   
classroom all night, do you?"  
  
*******  
  
Severus locked up his classroom, and swept off down the hallway, hopefully to have a badly-  
needed nap before dinner.  
  
I went with the four children to my nearest broom cupboard. Neville was carrying his cauldron,   
which was covered with a thick coating of burnt-on slime.  
  
First the children all tried scouring charms, which removed a lot of the mess. Then I began   
scrubbing.  
  
"Mr. Filch...?" Neville said, miserably, "do you think it's possible for someone to actually turn   
into a Squib?"  
  
"No."  
  
"How can you be sure?" Neville asked me, sadly.  
  
"I can't be positive. But it doesn't seem likely. I was born a Squib, and I've stayed one. You were   
born a wizard, even if your magic showed up late. Muggles stay Muggles, don't they? We are what we are,   
all of us."  
  
"But maybe I was a Squib. Remember, my great Uncle Algie...?"  
  
"If you weren't a Wizard, you probably would have died when he dropped you." I said, gruffly.   
"The things that people say will cure a Squib won't work on a true Squib. You can't put magic into   
someone by drowning them, or beating them, or locking them in a cupboard."  
  
Harry had a wry smile on his face. "Or take it out, either..." I thought I heard him murmur, very   
softly. But I might have been mistaken. It didn't make sense. Why would anyone who had magic ever   
want to take it out?  
  
When Harry saw that my arm was getting tired he reached out for the cauldron. I handed it to   
him, expecting him to use a scouring charm. To my surprise, he reached for my scrubber as well, and   
began to clean like a Muggle.  
  
He, Hermione and Ron were all looking at Neville. I had the feeling that each of them had tried,   
without much success, to reassure Neville that he wasn't a Squib.   
  
"Remember, Neville?" Harry said. "Your family was so relieved when you got your Hogwarts   
letter? They must have known what it meant."  
  
"Some wizards do fail," I said. "Apollyon Pringle, who trained me to be caretaker after him, had   
failed here. And, some wizards get expelled and their wands get snapped. But they remain wizards.   
Forbidding them to use their magic wouldn't be necessary, if they had none to use, would it? You're a   
wizard, Neville. You always will be. An owl brought you a Hogwarts letter on your eleventh birthday. You   
went into Ollivanders, and you were chosen by a wand. Neither of those things ever happened to me.   
Trust me. You're not a Squib."  
  
I felt eyes on me. Turning I saw Ron studying me, thoughtfully. He could understand better than   
Muggle-born Hermione, Muggle-raised Harry, or even Neville, who was still caught up in his own woes,   
what it meant not to get a Hogwarts letter when everyone in your family had gotten one for a thousand   
years.  
  
"What house were your parents in, Mr. Filch?" Ron asked.  
  
I blinked. No one had ever asked me that question before. I had to think about the answer. My   
parents had barely mentioned their school days when I was older. But I remembered them speaking of   
Hogwarts when I was quite small. They must have known, long before I'd turned eleven, that I would   
never be normal.  
  
"They were in different houses." I murmured. "Mum was in Ravenclaw. Dad was in Hufflepuff."  
  
Harry looked like his arms were getting tired now. I reached for Neville's cauldron and the   
brush. He gave them back.  
  
Hermione sighed. "There must be books with answers to questions like why Squibs are Squibs,   
and why Muggles, like my Mum and Dad, or Colin and Dennis's Mum and Dad, can have wizard   
children," she said.  
  
I shook my head. "I never found a book with those answers. My Mum searched though. For most   
of her life, she did. And she never found an answer. "  
  
Hermione looked sad, then she looked resolute. "But, maybe there's an answer now," she said.  
  
I smiled at her wryly. "You're always welcome to look."  
  
*******  
  
Hagrid treats the students that he befriends to tea and rock cakes. I sit with them in dingy,   
dungeon corridors and scrub cauldrons.   
  
Oh, well. Each of us has to find our own way of doing things, right? I'm new at this.  
  
Between the five of us, we were able to salvage Neville's cauldron. Which saved him the trouble   
of owling his Grandmother for a new one.  
  
The three boys went to take Neville's cauldron up to Gryffindor tower before dinner.   
  
Hermione said that she'd see them in the great hall.  
  
She and I walked together through the labyrinth dungeon corridors.  
  
"Crookshanks... are you here?"  
  
"Mrs. Norris... where are you, my sweet?"  
  
We found the pair of cats together, near Professor Snape's rooms. Fortunately, they were no   
longer yowling. Instead, they were curled up, side by side, dusty grey fur against fluffy ginger fur, both   
purring joyously.  
  
"She's definitely not in heat any more," Hermione said. "She must be pregnant!"  
  
The cats were quite glad to see us. Crookshanks prowled towards Hermione, looking extremely   
pleased with himself.   
  
Mrs. Norris padded towards me softly and rubbed against my ankles.  
  
I picked her up, stroking her familiar, bony body, soon to grow round and heavy.  
  
Change is frightening, but it always comes, whether we wish it or not. My sweet one was purring   
so contentedly that I couldn't begrudge her the risk she was taking.  
  
END OF CHAPTER FIVE  
  
*******  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
My cat is "fixed" so I had to get the information on cat-breeding and gestation off the net. I apologize for   
any mistakes.  
  
Jelsemium: Thank you!! Yes, exactly! Filch is afraid to let Mrs. Norris have kittens because he had his   
heart broken, though he denies it. ("I'm not like Hagrid. Not a BIT. The idea is absurd!") I didn't show   
Hermione getting the news from Harry, because he told her in the Gryffindor common room, and Filch   
wasn't there.  
  
Re Rita Skeeter: I really do think she'd have been happier in Slytherin. My reasons for not saying   
"Slytherin" right away were purely emotional, not logical. But that doesn't mean she's not smart.   
Slytherins (most of them, probably) are highly intelligent. If all the really smart people had to be in   
Ravenclaw, Hermione would probably be there too.  
  
Keep up the speed? I hope I can, but I'm not sure I can. I need to sleep eventually. And clean the house   
and do laundry...  
  
That's a good thought about poor Harry having nightmares. That'd be an excellent reason for him to   
suggest a night-time flying lesson for Colin!  
  
When it comes to picking up hints about Harry's situation at the Dursleys' color Filch "Clueless." He   
missed another hint this chapter.   
  
Danalas: Thank you!! I don't think I've seen "ROFLHAOWNCOGUTC" before... what does it mean?   
Thanks for the Lightsabers and the Peaches!!  
  
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Yes, Filch is going to be very protective of the kittens. Especially now that   
Trelawney has scared him out of his wits. I love your description of the "scary floofy grey cats." It made   
me laugh.  
  
Rabbit: Thank you!! I would guess that wizards must use magic to fix their familiars. There must be lots   
of different ways to do it, depending on the individual wizard's specialty. Flitwick would use a Charm, of   
course. And someone like Snape would probably use a potion. It was hard to picture any wizard using   
anything similar to crude "Muggle" methods. Yes, exactly! Filch should have asked Flitwick to take the   
Charm off long before it actually wore off.  
  
An article about kitten clones? No, I didn't see it...  
  
Not sure about how many kittens yet. Not as many as five (the number in her last litter, when one died.) I   
think the number of kittens in a litter tends to decrease with the mother's age.  
  
Elspeth: Thank you!! "Smart and somewhat ill-tempered" sounds like a perfect description of the kittens'   
parents, and it's safe to say that Crookshanks and Mrs. Norris will breed true.  
  
Filch is very worried about losing a kitten. He wishes he'd never had tea with Professor Trelawney.  
  
Your description of Professor Binns is perfect!  
  
Yes, Peeves loves Filch's reactions to his mischief. It's half the fun!  
  
Alchemine: Thank you!! Harry's got to have quick reflexes... he's the Seeker!   
Ouch! Rubbing Alcohol! God, that must have hurt, even worse than iodine! (Filch is lucky that I didn't   
read about your mother's methods before I wrote that chapter, or he would have been screaming even   
louder.)  
  
Ariana Deralte: Thank you!! Yes, the noise disturbed people in the Castle. Most of the ghosts were aware   
of what was going on. And a lot of people heard the cats. All the rumors about what happened include the   
cats.  
  
UnrepentantReader: Thank you!!  
  
Lataradk: Thank you!! Yes, Minerva could have used something less painful than iodine, but she knows   
Filch, and his tendency to beat himself up, plus she was more than a bit angry at him for endangering her   
"cubs" so recklessly. She wanted to "teach" him the error of his ways.  
  
As of yet, the rumor that Harry and Colin were flying brooms in the Castle, with Filch's PERMISSION is   
considered the wildest rumor of all. Though the truth may come out, eventually.  
  
Gramarye: Thank you!! Hermione is glad that Crookshanks didn't get Stunned. Harry and Colin didn't   
want to get her mad at them, so they weren't trying to hit him.  
  
RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you!! And Thank you!! I'm still not sure what The Baron did to punish   
Peeves. I don't think I want to know... 


	6. Questions, Answers and More Questions

The Way of the Squib  
a Harry Potter fan-fic  
by Ozma  
a sequel to "Squib Wizard"   
Chapter 6: Questions, Answers and More Questions  
Everything in this story really belongs to J. K. Rowling  
  
  
  
"Hold still, Mr. Filch," Ginny Weasley told me, as she and Hermione Granger came into my   
office.   
  
"This won't hurt a bit."  
  
Before I could speak, move or do anything at all, Ginny's wand was out, tip aglow.  
  
"Anodynos!" she said.  
  
The flash of light made me nearly jump out of my chair. Bright spots danced in front of my eyes.   
A whisper of magic, gentle as a breeze, brushed against my nose.  
  
Blinking, I gingerly felt the spot where her spell had touched me. Most of the scratches on my   
face and arms from my battle with Mrs. Norris's suitors had healed. Except for one deep gouge on my   
nose. Now that gouge seemed to be nearly healed too.  
  
"There. It made my nose hurt to see you like that!" Ginny said.   
  
I've never had any delusions about my appearance. The few people who've cared for me over the   
years certainly haven't done so because of my looks. A bit of damage done to my face doesn't trouble me.   
But Ginny had clearly been bothered. It was a new experience to have a young friend who would be   
concerned about a minor thing like that.  
  
Even the house elves had just tsked and shaken their heads when they saw me.  
  
"You is all scratches, Argus Filch. Should have left poor cats alone," Dobby had scolded.  
  
"Poor Mrs. Norris... she is needing kittens!" Winky had agreed.  
  
"Young sirs on brooms in the Castle! What is you *thinking*?" Winky had added, sternly.  
  
The only other human who had commented on my appearance had been Professor Snape.  
  
"You look as if every cat in the Castle tried to use you for a scratching post." Severus had   
snarled. "Keep this up, and you won't need polyjuice potion if you wish to impersonate Alastor Moody!"  
  
He'd stalked away, leaving me to wonder if that was his particular way of being solicitous. If it   
was, then I guess that I preferred Ginny's methods.  
  
"It's silly for you to keep avoiding Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said. "She's not angry at you.   
Why should she be? Mrs. Norris is fine now, and she's going to have kittens..."  
  
Ginny reached over to stroke Mrs. Norris. "That's right! You're going to be a Mum!" The small,   
red-haired girl stroked my cat, affectionately.   
  
Mrs. Norris responded with a very contented purr, butting her head up against Ginny's hand.  
  
Pregnancy certainly seemed to agree with my cat thus far. She was unusually sweet-natured, at   
least with the small number of people that she already liked. Ginny Weasley was one of those few.   
  
The friendship between Ginny and Mrs. Norris had begun at the very end of Ginny's first year ,   
unknown even to me.   
  
Wisely, Hermione didn't attempt to pet my cat. She knew that befriending Mrs. Norris would be   
a slow, painstaking process. But she was polite and restrained whenever she was with Mrs. Norris. She   
never told my cat what to do, despite the fact that the kittens were Crookshanks' babies too. That was a   
good start.  
  
Hermione was looking at me. Her expression was troubled.  
  
"I've been to the Library," she said. "You're right, Mr. Filch. There really isn't too much   
information on Squibs available."  
  
Surprised, I said, "You've been looking things up? You didn't have to do that."  
  
"Of course she had to," Ginny said. "Ron and Harry told me that you gave her a new research   
topic. You know what Hagrid would do if someone told him that there was a new monster in the   
Forbidden Forest, don't you?" She grinned.   
  
"Hermione is the same way when you tell her about a subject she hasn't studied yet."  
  
I had a sudden, disconcerting image of Hermione, striding eagerly into the Library, with a   
crossbow slung on her back and Fang at her heels.  
  
"What I found was very general," Hermione began. "For example, no one seems to be sure   
exactly how many Squibs there are in the Wizarding world today."  
  
"That makes sense." I said, shrugging. "Most Squibs will hide it, if they can. I certainly would, if   
it were possible."  
  
"It's also interesting that a lot of books don't agree on what the actual definition of a Squib   
should be!" Hermione said.   
  
"Some sources use "Squib" as a label for witches and wizards who have magic, but don't seem   
particularly powerful. While other sources reserve the term exclusively for those children born to a witch   
and a wizard, who don't appear to manifest any measurable magical skills at all," she explained to Ginny.  
  
I nodded. "My Mum and Dad eventually came to believe the latter. They thought `Squib' was   
often used too broadly."  
  
"I read that witches and wizards have argued over the precise definition of "Squib" for years, and   
some have even come to blows and duels over it," Hermione said. The thought of such a lack of   
professionalism among scholars made her frown.  
  
I couldn't help grinning. Mum and I had been witness to one such violent argument, between two   
wizards who'd both wanted to use me as a research subject. Apparently, the Squibs who manifest almost   
no measurable magical skills whatsoever are the most rare of all.   
  
When the two fierce looking wizards had pulled out their wands and started dueling to decide   
who would study me, Mum had grabbed me and fled.   
  
"All the sources reported no evidence that Squibs run in families," Hermione continued. "Many   
known Squibs have normal siblings, and no other Squibs among their relatives."  
  
That made me sigh. I could still remember my two grandmothers fighting over which side was to   
blame. Eventually, both sides of the family had stopped speaking to each other entirely.  
  
"And Squibs don't appear to be born as a result of curses, or hexes..." Hermione said.  
  
"Or having the expectant mother frightened by a boggart..." I murmured. "That's what happened   
to my Mum. Her friends always blamed the boggart."   
  
Mum would have liked Hermione, I thought. In my most vivid memories of my mother, she was   
surrounded by piles of books and parchment. When all the healers and various "experts" she'd dragged   
me to couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, she continued researching on her own.  
  
Poor Mum. None of her books could convince her of the one thing she really needed to know.  
  
That my lack of magic wasn't her fault.  
  
Hermione was looking more troubled than ever.  
  
"There's more..." she said. Her voice was sad enough to make Ginny give both Hermione and me   
an anxious glance.  
  
I thought I knew what she was going to say.   
  
"Most Squibs tend to die young?" I asked her. "Yes, I've heard that." (Mum had never shared   
that particular fact with me. I'd only just heard it recently, from Mad Eye Moody.)  
  
"Don't worry," I said, mostly to Ginny, who looked stricken. "It's safe to say that I've already   
missed my chance to die young. Several chances, in fact."  
  
Neither girl smiled.  
  
"I'd imagine that most of those deaths would be attributable to some magical mishap or other.   
We Squibs can't protect ourselves as well as proper wizards can." I tried hard not to sound sorry for   
myself. I was merely stating a fact.  
  
"Hermione, I'm sorry that you put yourself through all this..." I added gruffly. "I do appreciate   
your efforts."  
  
"But I haven't found any real answers!" she said, frustrated. "None of the books could even tell   
me exactly why Squibs can't do magic!"  
  
"Though," she added brightly, "there does seem to be proof to support the popular belief that a   
powerful enough surge of adrenaline can awaken a Squib's magic. So Neville's great-uncle really was   
acting on sound evidence when he dangled Neville out that attic window."  
  
I shook my head, frowning. My parents had blamed all the "Squib cure" stories on people who   
were using the term "Squib"to describe wizards and witches whose magic simply showed up later than   
usual.   
  
Mum and Dad had both seemed to know that violent cures, of the sort that Neville's great uncle   
had tried, would have injured or killed me.  
  
I said as much to Hermione.  
  
"It's a bit like when Muggles used to think that they were burning real witches and wizards," I   
said. "The only way that the poor Muggles could prove their innocence was to die. That's how my parents   
thought you could tell the real Squibs from the wizards. The Squibs were the ones who died. Did the   
books only mention the success stories?"  
  
"One of the books did talk about the deaths..." Hermione said, soberly.  
  
Grimly, I nodded.   
  
I remembered my own experience with a deadly Squib cure all too well. Some of us always have   
to learn things the hard way.  
  
*******  
  
My parents hadn't been willing to do anything drastic to me. But I'd been desperate. And I'd   
heard all the "cure" stories too. Mum and Dad had tried to keep those sorts of stories from me but   
naturally, they couldn't. So, one day, in the summer following my twelfth birthday, I had picked up the   
heaviest rock I could carry. And I threw myself into the pond.  
  
The pond was in a wooded area, near our village. The small wood had been protected with   
Muggle-repelling spells. It was said that a unicorn lived in there, though no one had reported seeing the   
unicorn for many years.   
  
The Muggle repelling spells crawled over me like a thousand small ants as I went through the   
wood. The spells didn't repel me. This was some small comfort but not enough. Magic was always   
something that I could feel on my skin. Magic had never once come from inside me.  
  
I wasn't thinking clearly about what I meant to do, but I knew the thought of September was   
unbearable. This year, owls bearing letters from Hogwarts would be coming to children who were younger   
than I was. And, when September started, off they would go to become brave Gryffindors or crafty   
Slytherins or industrious Hufflepuffs or wise Ravenclaws. My year of hoping was gone. No owl had come   
with a letter for me.   
  
Most of my friends, who had returned from their first year of magical studies, had already begun   
to draw away from me. Some had done it out of pity, and some were shunning me out of contempt, or   
perhaps it was even fear. Maybe what I had might be contagious.   
  
It was peaceful in the wood. The pond was still and deep. Carefully taking off my shoes and   
stuffing my socks into them neatly, I picked up the rock. I wrapped my arms around it. Calmly I waded   
into the water and out, past the shallow part. I knew that soon I would be either a dead squib or a live   
wizard.  
  
I was really hoping to be a live wizard. I didn't want to die. Surely, the magic would awaken   
inside me before I drowned. The water closed over my head. I remember thinking "Please, magic,   
please..."I remember feeling that my lungs would burst. I remember thinking "any moment now I will feel   
the magic rising in me and I will be safe on the shore, and Mum and Dad will be so proud and they'll take   
me to buy a wand, and the other children will never tease me again, because I'll be a wizard too..." I   
remember choking as I tried to breathe and my mouth, nose and lungs filled with water.  
  
I was drowning.  
  
One of the other boys from the village had followed me.   
  
Ian had been sorted into Ravenclaw the previous year. He knew the spells to make a nearly   
drowned person breathe again.  
  
"Argus! You idiot!" he'd shouted at me.   
  
"I'm a Squib, Ian. I really am..." I'd said, when I could talk again.   
  
It was the first time I'd ever said it aloud.   
  
And then, I'd burst into tears.  
  
My parents had never known about what I'd done. Ian and I had never told. When September   
started, Ian went back to Hogwarts, and onward to the rest of his life as a wizard. He and I had drifted out   
of touch over the years.  
  
No one else knew about what had happened at the pond.   
  
I certainly wasn't going to tell Ginny or Hermione that I'd ever done anything so stupid.  
  
*******  
  
Poor Neville. His grandmother, great aunts and uncles had all thought that he was a Squib for   
years. Neville had thought so too. Even the letter and his wand had not convinced him! I could understand   
how Neville felt. Thinking you're a Squib isn't the sort of thing you can leave behind very easily, even if   
you're really a wizard.  
  
"Neville's not a Squib." I told the girls. "Believe me, if he was, then his family would have been   
mourning him instead of sending him to Hogwarts. He's a wizard. He's got plenty of magic in him. His   
power feels just as strong as anyone's..."  
  
"What do you mean... his power `feels' as strong as anyone's?" Ginny asked me.  
  
I blinked at her, confused. "You know. When other wizards or witches do magic. The way it   
*feels.*"  
  
"The way what feels?" Hermione asked me, her eyes intent on my face.  
  
"Well, magic of course." I said, a bit perplexed. "You must feel it too. Sometimes it has a taste,   
doesn't it? Or a scent. Some spells make me sneeze. But mostly, magic has a feel. Rather like a wind. Hot   
or cold, either way. In all varying degrees of strength, of course. Neville's magic is strong enough to suit   
anyone. I wish he'd learn to believe the rest of you when you try to tell him."  
  
Ginny and Hermione looked at each other, then at me.  
  
"Mr. Filch..." Hermione said, very carefully. "I *can't* feel it when other witches or wizards use   
magic."  
  
"Neither can I," Ginny said.  
  
I stared at them. "But that's impossible. I've always been able to do that. It's just about the only   
thing I can do. The two of you must be able to do a simple little thing like that, with all the power you   
have..."  
  
"All the power we have...?" Ginny said.  
  
Their constant repeating of everything I said was beginning to irk me a bit. "Yes, you're like   
magical bonfires, both of you!" I said, irritably.  
  
The girls exchanged another glance.  
  
"Believe me when I tell you this, Mr. Filch..." Hermione said. "I have never heard anyone say   
that they could feel magic, or taste magic, or smell magic before."  
  
"Oh," I said, surprised. "I've always assumed that everyone could do it. Probably much better   
than I could."  
  
"What else can you do?" Hermione asked me.  
  
I shrugged. "Nothing much, really. Er... I can tell when someone's about to use a spell, because   
their magic gives a bit of a surge... there!" I said, nodding at Ginny, who was holding out her wand.   
  
"You're about to do something."  
  
Ginny grinned at me. "That's right, I was," she said. "Lumos!" Her wand tip glowed.  
  
*******  
  
I couldn't understand why Ginny and Hermione would be so interested in my simple little tricks.   
Their powers were much greater than mine.   
  
But they spent quite a while with me, asking me questions. And I realized that I had questions   
too. I'd always assumed that anything I could do, a proper wizard could do even better. If that wasn't true,   
what did it mean?  
  
After the girls had left my office (Hermione said something about going back to the Library and   
Ginny grinned, sighed and rolled her eyes.) I picked up Mrs. Norris and went in search of someone with   
answers.   
  
I didn't use my Doors to get directly into Dumbledore's office. It seemed disrespectful, somehow.  
  
"Jelly Babies," I told the Gargoyle, and it jumped aside.  
  
Up the moving staircase I went, and knocked on the Headmaster's door.  
  
"Enter!" I heard him call, cheerfully.  
  
"Good afternoon, Argus, Mrs. Norris," Dumbledore said. He had a pile of paperwork in front of   
him, and he seemed rather glad to have an interruption.  
  
"I understand that congratulations are in order."  
  
"Yes, Headmaster." I felt a bit nervous, wondering if he was angry at me for allowing Harry and   
Colin to fly their brooms in the Castle. But he didn't bring up the subject, and I certainly wasn't going to   
mention it if he wasn't.  
  
"Sir..? This may seem like a stupid question," I began, hesitantly. Then I blurted out,   
"Headmaster, can you `feel' magic? Other people's spells?"  
  
He listened very gravely while I described what I had always been able to do, silly and useless   
though it was, and Hermione and Ginny's interesting reactions to it.  
  
"Argus, what you're describing is a rare talent," he told me, quietly. "No, I cannot do it."  
  
Feeling suddenly a bit shaky, I slid myself into a chair in front of his desk. Mrs. Norris slid down   
from my shoulder and curled up in my lap, purring.  
  
"I'd hardly call it a real `talent,'" I said, gruffly, embarrassed.  
  
"I disagree," the Headmaster said, very seriously. "I do not use the term lightly. It is a talent. One   
prized by Aurors, in fact."  
  
A bit abashed, I studied the floor for a few moments. Stroking Mrs. Norris helped me regain my   
composure.  
  
"Have you ever heard of anyone else who could do it?" I asked him.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes. Two people, though not in recent memory."  
  
I took a deep breath. "Were they both Squibs, Headmaster?"  
  
He nodded again.  
  
"Did you know that I c-could...?"  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "You have never mentioned it until now, Argus. And, no, not every Squib I   
have known has had the ability to feel magic."  
  
"Have you known very many Squibs?" I whispered.  
  
"Not many Squibs will admit what they are openly, Argus. I've probably known more than I   
realize."  
  
"Oh." I had a sudden memory, as something he'd said finally clicked. "Prized by Aurors...?   
That's how he knew! Alastor Moody! During my second lesson with him, he noticed what I was doing!"  
  
Dumbledore smiled. "Did he? He said nothing to me about it. Though he's always telling me that   
he's extremely pleased with your progress and grinning in a rather smug and secretive way. Well, if he   
asks to "borrow" you, I will know why."  
  
"Borrow me!" I knew that I was repeating everything he said, very much like Ginny and   
Hermione had been doing to me, earlier. I hoped that I wasn't irritating him.  
  
Dumbledore didn't seem irritated. He grinned at me, like a small boy. "Aurors occasionally have   
a need for someone with your talent."  
  
"Headmaster... if he asked, would you let me go with him?" The thought made me feel   
simultaneously excited and terrified.  
  
Dumbledore said gently, "The choice would be yours, Argus. You belong to yourself, not to me.   
Would you be willing to accompany Moody on an Auror's mission, if he asked for you?"  
  
"I-I don't know..." I said, nervously, twisting my hands together. "I'd have to think about it."  
  
Mrs. Norris pushed her head against my hands, reminding me that I had stopped stroking her. I   
resumed petting and she resumed purring.  
  
"I hope he doesn't ask any time soon," I said, anxiously. "I mean... I have the kittens to consider   
now..."  
  
"Alastor would not ask, unless he thought you were ready and was certain that you were willing,"   
Dumbledore assured me.  
  
That was a relief. It wasn't as if I didn't already have plenty to do. The Castle doesn't clean   
itself.  
  
"Argus, Alastor has been keeping me well informed regarding your increasing skills with the   
Doors," the Headmaster said. "He's told me that you can summon them, making them appear in mid-air."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"Excellent! I had an idea for something interesting that you might want to try. If I could use your   
Doors without getting ill, this is probably one of the very first things I'd want to do."  
  
Wondering what sort of defensive strategy he had in mind, I listened with interest.  
  
"I believe you like to use the bathtub in the dungeons, correct," he asked.  
  
I nodded, now a bit bemused.  
  
"Well, I'd recommend using the main staff bathroom instead. That tub is even deeper. First, I'd   
fill up the tub, all the way to the top," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "Then I'd get a running start, perhaps   
jumping through a floor somewhere to get some momentum."  
  
I stared at him in total confusion.  
  
He grinned. "Well, picture it, Argus. Imagine the diving possibilities. Flips! Cannonballs!"  
  
"Headmaster!" I cried, scandalized, "Imagine the mess. The water all over the floor!"  
  
He sighed. "Oh, Argus... everyone needs to have a bit of fun now and again. Using your own   
talents to their fullest potential means learning to truly enjoy them."  
  
"I'm sorry, sir," I said firmly. "Making a mess is never going to be my idea of fun!"  
  
*******  
  
Mrs. Norris and I took the long way back through the Castle. I needed to think. My life,   
predictable for years, was suddenly changing in ways I'd never imagined. The Doors weren't my only   
magical talent after all. I'd never truly realized the significance of something that was so much a part of   
me that I'd always taken it for granted.  
  
I'd never thought of myself as a puzzle. But the ways of Squibs appeared to be a mystery to the   
Wizarding world. Hermione had not found many answers in those books of hers, but she'd seemed   
determined to keep right on looking. The girl was a force of nature. If answers existed, she'd find them,   
eventually.  
  
Moody had been right. The students at Hogwarts were a resource. Full of energy, intelligence and   
ideas. I had never thought about how much I could learn from them. And, perhaps, I could show them   
more than just the penalties for making messes myself.   
  
Of all the new thoughts I'd had recently, that was among the strangest and most frightening.  
  
If I could only find a way to convince Neville that he was a proper wizard, and a powerful one,   
that would be a good start.  
  
But, in the meantime, I had an expectant mother to look after, and a litter of kittens to prepare   
for.  
  
THE END  
  
(for now)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
The other, darker story that I've been thinking about (the one with Sirius and Snape) takes place before   
the birth of Mrs. Norris' & Crookshanks' kittens. I'm still thinking that story out, but I hope it won't be   
too long before the pieces fall into place properly.  
  
Please stay tuned...  
  
Quoth the Raven: Thank you!! Yes, Harry's situation is so different from Filch's that Filch would   
actually have to see how poor Harry gets treated by the Dursleys in order to comprehend what Harry's life   
is like.  
  
I agree that Harry is not the sort who talks about the details of his private life. I also agree that very few   
people probably really know and understand the true horrors of Harry's life with the Dursleys.   
  
McGonagall thought that Filch deserved the iodine for several reasons. Filch was refusing to see Poppy   
because he was worried that the Nurse would give him a scolding every bit as bad as the one he got from   
Minerva. Minerva was annoyed at him for being so silly; first about Mrs. Norris's situation, and then   
about not wanting to go to Poppy and have his wounds tended properly.  
  
McGonagall was also angry at Filch for giving the boys permission to fly brooms through the Castle. She   
expected better from him. (Minerva saw Colin's brush with death from the stairs, and nearly had a heart   
attack herself.)  
  
And, Minerva also knows Filch's tendencies towards what Snape refers to as "self-flagellation." She knew   
that Argus would punish himself for what had almost happened, if no one else did.  
  
It occurred to me that Filch's parents had been Hogwarts students, so I started wondering what house(s)   
they were in. I thought that Ron would be the logical one to have the insight to ask.  
  
Alchemine: Thank you!! I loved your suggestion for what Filch should have done to Trelawney! It made   
me laugh.  
  
Jelsemium: Thank you!! The idea of Snape being horrified at Filch's friendliness towards Harry delighted   
me!  
  
Most people at Hogwarts know that Harry doesn't like the Dursleys, but I think very few people know all   
about the horrible abuse that Harry has to live with.  
  
I'm still thinking about how many kittens there should be. Your suggestions are good ones. Mrs. Norris's   
litter may be larger than I'd planned at first.  
  
I LOVED this scene where Harry tells Hermione about Crookshanks' situation! It's PERFECT!  
  
Rabbit: Thank you!! Filch doesn't realize that there are books on Squibs and Dark Magic in the Restricted   
Section. Hermione will be determined to read those, once she finds out about them.   
  
Now Hermione and Ginny both know about the one manifestation of Filch's blocked-up powers that he's   
always been able to access. And, soon this knowledge will spread to Ron, Harry and Neville.  
  
Danalas: Thank you!!  
  
DiaLin: Thank you!!  
  
Ariana Deralte: Thank you!! I wanted a plush Mrs. Norris! I wish they'd been available. I sure would   
have bought one. Both Hermione and Filch realize that Crookshanks and Mrs. Norris were only doing   
what cats do.  
  
Lataradk: Thank you!! The image of Snape "accio-ing" the cats made me laugh. The poor man would   
have ended up as badly scratched up as Filch.  
  
RioRaptor & Shadow: Thank you!! & Thank you!! Wonderful Trelawney impression!!  
  
Robert: Thank you!! Ooh! You've given this so much thought! You're bringing up some ideas that I'm   
thinking about for the next story I'm trying to work on. Can you read my mind?  
  
The Squib Scroll(s) sidestep the problem of Squibs being unable to access their own magic. The scrolls are   
used to form a link between the Squib and another wizard. The "broken" part of the Squib is fully   
compensated for by the other wizard, who then takes advantage of the power that the Squib has always   
been unable to use.   
  
Yes, the creator of the Squib Scrolls probably knew exactly what was "broken" in a Squib. It's easier to   
exploit a creature that you understand well. Granting a Squib temporary access to their magic is only a   
means to an end. The primary purpose of the scrolls is to increase the powers of the Dark wizard/witch   
user who went to the trouble of finding a Squib and getting all the right bits.  
  
Voldemort doesn't know about all four Doors. As Tom Riddle (Slytherin's Heir) he may be aware of   
Salazar's Door, and he may have used it as a convenient escape route down to the dungeons when he was   
at Hogwarts. But he never learned to get the Door to come to him, when he needed it, or take him   
wherever he wanted to go.   
  
(Someone once asked me if the Heirs of the Founders would be able to use the Doors. I thought it made   
sense that they'd be able to.) However, once Riddle gave up whatever remained of his humanity to   
become Lord Voldemort, Salazar's Door became closed to him forever.  
  
Lord Voldemort doesn't know that Salazar's Door could be used by a Squib, though he is aware of the   
"loophole" that makes Squibs immune from the effects of certain spells, particularly some of the protective   
ones around Hogwarts Castle. The Dark Lord wants a scroll and a Squib to experiment on.   
  
All four Doors have become "keyed" to Filch. No one, not even another Squib, could use them unless   
Filch took them through the first time. (Though the Doors could, presumably, be keyed to more than one   
person at a time. Each Door might recognize the heir of their own creator, if Filch were to take them   
through.)  
  
Wow! A spell that could turn a healthy wizard into a Squib, temporarily! What an utterly cool idea! I   
could easily see Voldemort using that as a punishment, even if he doesn't know about the Doors.   
"Wormtail! Get me a Squib to skin for a cloak, or I'll turn you into a Squib and use your worthless hide   
instead!"  
  
ThePet: Thank you!!  
  
Lizard of Fire: Thank you!! Yes, poor Snape did get his nap. His level of crankiness dropped down to   
Snape-normal (merely bilious) shortly afterwards.   
  
Gramarye: Thank you!! I loved the image of Snape, trying to sleep with a pillow over his head.  
  
Filch is not really pleased with the notion that he has to "share" Mrs. Norris, but he knows that she could   
have done far worse than Crookshanks.  
  
Elspeth: Thank you!! Excellent point that Hermione has never had any babies to mother before! She's   
going to be so sweet with Crookshanks' babies.  
  
Yes, like you I am hoping to see Neville get some confidence in Rowling's Books! 


End file.
